


A Pound of Flesh

by manic_intent



Series: A Pound of Flesh [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Bonding, M/M, Minor Canon character death, Probably several minor deaths what with this being a war fic and all, That old vampire AU where Lorenzo is the Duke of a human freehold, Various Shenanigans, and he decides to consolidate his power by forming an alliance with the trueblood Auditore family, and the Templars are searching for something in Roma, blood bonding, it IS AC after all, with unintended circumstances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 104,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have a touch of melodrama in you, Altezza.”</p><p>Wind from the gathering storm whistled through the cracks and rent windows of the vacant church, the shadows long and deep from the light of the lantern on the bench at the pew. Lorenzo kept an iron hold on his instinctive fear, willing his fingers away from the silver dagger hidden under his robes. The church had been empty when he had arrived; now a man was leaning against the pulpit, long fingers folded under his chin, his smile amused, much of his aquiline face swallowed by the shadow of a white cowl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Man, this is such an old fic - I think I first started writing it in 2010, when AC2 was just finished (before even the AC2 expansions)...! 
> 
> It does however fit the tumblr prompt from dragonsinthecode, which asked for 'Ezio(nonhuman/Supernaturalish)\Leonardo(No real preference) and there being some kind of miscomunicated flirting.' and I am lazy, so... ;3

I.

“You have a touch of melodrama in you, _Altezza_.”

Wind from the gathering storm whistled through the cracks and rent windows of the vacant church, the shadows long and deep from the light of the lantern on the bench at the pew. Lorenzo kept an iron hold on his instinctive fear, willing his fingers away from the silver dagger hidden under his robes. The church had been empty when he had arrived; now a man was leaning against the pulpit, long fingers folded under his chin, his smile amused, much of his aquiline face swallowed by the shadow of a white cowl.

“As do you, _signore_ Giovanni Auditore.” Lorenzo rose warily to his feet. “Showing your presence only at the stroke of midnight.”

“The meeting was for midnight. I prefer to be punctual.” The Duke of Firenze tried not to stare too hard at the faint indents that pointed teeth made on Giovanni’s lower lip as the _vampiro_ spoke. “A strange choice of locations. You are of course aware that the sign of the cross is merely useless symbolism?”

“This building stands in neutral territory,” Lorenzo said coldly, ignoring Giovanni’s patronizing tone. “I had intended to have a friendly conversation.”

Giovanni raised his head as he propped his chin on his right fist, his left hand tapping lightly over crumbling stone, his eyes the disturbing feral orange of a pureblood _vampiro_. “Do you often have friendly conversations with your cattle?”

“If they were at war with me and my kind, and had the capacity to kill me in my sleep, perhaps I would,” Lorenzo countered, folding his arms. Encouraged by Giovanni’s answering smirk, he added, “If you had thought conversation pointless, why did _you_ agree to meet?”

“Curiosity,” Giovanni returned, his free hand now doodling circles in the dust. “I have a lot of time, as you can imagine, _Altezza_ , and I could not come up with a rational reason why the ruler of Firenze would ask to meet me alone, during the night, outside of his territory. My sons were convinced of foul play.”

“But you?”

“Surely I have no reason to be afraid of one human,” Giovanni drawled, tapping at his chin. “You have a silver dagger at your hip, and outside in the graveyard your men have hidden themselves well, but should I choose to take your life they will not reach you before I break your neck. So. You claim to have business with the Auditore. Speak.”

“The _camorra della sera_ consists of many _famigli_ , and for a little over a century the Auditore and the Borgia have been at war. Alliances shift, and the war has been at a deadlock for the past four decades. _Si_?”

“ _Si_.” Giovanni said encouragingly, almost insultingly so.

“The Auditore do not create ghouls, instead taking blood from the willing. The Borgia are the opposite, draining their victims to shells and then controlling the husks to do their bidding.”

“We take blood from our bondsmen,” Giovanni corrected, looking a little bored. “Any man or woman from our territories who wish to give, can give.”

“But it is the reason behind your deadlock with the Borgia: the husks do not fear pain or death, compared to your _condottieri_.”

“I think we have done quite well so far,” Giovanni shrugged, unconcerned, “And the rules of our little _famiglia_ are absolute. Did you call me here to lecture me, _Altezza_ , or do we actually have business?”

“I plan to take over Venezia,” Lorenzo said quietly. “At this point the Doge is a Borgia puppet. His guards are husks; an army of husks that my forces cannot hope to conquer on our own. The Sforza hold Forlì, and as the Borgia control both Roma and Venezia, the main mouths of trade in Italia, you will continue to be crippled, even as we are crippled. With the naval shipyards in Roma and Venice, any trade or association with the rest of the world is controlled by the Borgia, and the remaining freehold towns on the coastline are under constant attack. Soon the non-Borgia territories will be surrounded, you and the other _famigli_.”

“Not just husks,” Giovanni said thoughtfully. “One of the Borgia is in Venezia. We are not quite clear which. Firenze has ever had an uneasy relationship with Monteriggioni, _Altezza_. So, respectfully, I must confess that I am not so sure that I should trust you.”

“If one of the Borgia resides in Venezia then we will definitely need your aid.” Lorenzo had not known that: he made a private note to speak to Malik later. The hunter had work to do. “Should you be afraid of a human?”

Giovanni smirked, clearly not taking the bait as Lorenzo threw his own words back at him. “It is no secret that the Medici have been training a pack of hunters for some time, _Altezza_ , and a rather successful pack, at that.”

Lorenzo had hoped not to resort to this. Giovanni narrowed his eyes as the Duke of Firenze unclasped his collar to bare his neck, but he did not move. “You can read the minds of those you bite.”

“Perhaps you do not understand what you are offering, _Altezza_ ,” Giovanni said mildly. “Have you heard aught at all about a vampire’s bite? The reason behind the Auditore taking blood indirectly through donation rather than drinking?”

“That it can break a man’s will,” Lorenzo said flatly. “You will find mine made of sterner stuff. I have ruled Firenze since I was twenty years of age, held it despite several incidents from both human conspirators and brushes with your _camorra della sera_. I am not afraid.”

“I have heard much about you, _Duce_ but ‘foolish’ was not a thought that I entertained in full until now,” Giovanni observed, as Lorenzo took the silver dagger from his belt and tossed it onto the bench, clattering, though he did not move.

“When was the last time that you bit a human?” the young Duke asked softly, trying to sound, God forgive him, _inviting_ , stepping slowly up towards the pulpit, his every move tracked by feral orange.

“Hn.” Giovanni was staring at his neck now, clearly tempted. “Outside of self-defense? I think once. I regretted it afterwards, if I recall. As you may regret this quite soon.”

“Let me decide what I should regret,” Lorenzo retorted, as the vampire chuckled, drawing him close. Cool lips pressed against his flesh briefly, intimately, in the semblance of a kiss, and Lorenzo hissed with pain as fangs sank in. The pain was instantly replaced with a drug-like lassitude, a siren ecstasy that caused him to moan, to go limp in Giovanni’s arms; surrender seemed so _easy_.

The thought drifted in his mind for a moment before sparking fear, and then answering anger; Lorenzo _fought_ , pushing away the warm, comforting cloud blanketing his mind, focusing on Firenze, on his anger at the casual cruelties of the _camorra della sera_ , on his frustration at Firenze’s constant difficulty in holding their own against vampiric strength even with superior weaponry and training. The freehold humans were a shrinking breed; in Italia, only the Sforza and the Medici held territories anywhere near their early strengths, and even in such desperate climes neither family could trust each other enough to work together-

Abruptly, the fog seemed to clear, and Lorenzo was blinking and dizzy, pushing blindly and weakly at Giovanni’s shoulder as the vampire lapped the wound closed and grinned against his skin.

“You deserve your reputation, _Altezza_. Not one inch did you give to the bite.”

Lorenzo glared at him, still ineffectively trying to pull away from Giovanni’s grasp. The vampire’s lips were reddened and flecked with blood; as he watched, Giovanni wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and then licked the smear clean, catlike and sensual. His flush no longer entirely from his anger, Lorenzo growled, “Let go of me, _signore_.”

“Call me Giovanni,” Giovanni said, looking pleased, though he did so, stepping back. “You want Venezia because of its network of running water, _Altezza_. In Venezia you are safe from vampires.”

“You said one of the Borgia was in Venezia.” Lorenzo leant against the pulpit, waiting for the dizziness to pass. The wound at his neck stung lightly, but he fought the urge to touch it.

“One of the Borgia, or, at least, one of the _famigli_ allied to the Borgia. The Barbarigo, perhaps. He is in the outskirts, somewhere, controlling the husks.” Giovanni shrugged. “If he does not stay close, then the husks will go berserk. As I said, we are not sure which of the Borgia or their allies are there, nor have we expended much effort in finding out. Until now, Venezia had never been of interest to the Auditore.”

“Until now?”

“We have not allied with outsider humans before.” Before Lorenzo could react, Giovanni had taken his left wrist delicately but firmly between thumb and forefinger, leaning down, as if to kiss the heavy Medici ring; but at the last moment, turning his hand around instead to brush his lips against the sensitive underside of his wrist.

“I trust that the experience will not prove disappointing. Send for us when you have consolidated your plans, _Altezza_. In the meantime, you may wish to speak with the Sforza.”

“Negotiations with the Sforza are already under way. I will send an ambassador to your Court in Monteriggioni within the week,” Lorenzo jerked his hand away from Giovanni’s grip, his flush deepening at the vampire’s knowing smirk. “I _trust_ you will treat him with every due courtesy.”

“He will be an honored guest. You have my word that no harm will befall him.” Giovanni inclined his head. “You have planned this quite in advance. Were you so certain that I would acquiesce?”

“I have heard that you are reasonable,” Lorenzo shrugged, taking a deep breath, then walking a little unsteadily back to the bench to retrieve his dagger. “I did not see a logical reason for you to refuse.”

“You are a very curious human,” The vampire purred, all liquid velvet from the pulpit; and yet when Lorenzo straightened from the bench, sheathing his dagger, Giovanni was pressed behind him, arms around his waist, cool breath wafting over the closed wound at his neck, his musk like papyrus, raw earth, and the sharp copper of fresh blood. “I look forward to negotiating again with you in the future, _Altezza_.”

Lorenzo growled at the brushing kiss over the bite, whirling around, his hand on the hilt of the dagger, but Giovanni was gone; in his place, a cloud of bats rose, screeching and chittering, towards the hole in the ancient roof of the church. Exhaling heavily, Lorenzo sat down on the bench, rubbing the flat of his palm over his eyes, his heart still pounding from the close encounter. Perhaps he truly _was_ mad.

He had managed to calm his breathing and button up his robe when he heard someone seat himself behind him, unobtrusively. “Malik.”

“ _Altezza_.” Malik’s Syrian accent was exotic in Italian, his tone inflectionless. The hunter had lost an arm and his brother in the war against the vampires. Skilled, silent and deadly, Lorenzo had already used him to good effect in clearing Firenze of all remaining nests: the non- _camorra_ vampires were easy pickings to a trained hunter.

“There is apparently a Borgia or Borgia-allied vampire on the outskirts of Venezia. Find out which one.”

“ _Si, Altezza_.” Malik exhaled, irritable. “I should have known that myself. I apologize. I did think it odd that the husks were so well-behaved.”

“The vampires are very good at hiding themselves when they want to be hidden,” Lorenzo said dismissively. “Let us return to Firenze. And find out where Leonardo is. I have an diplomatic assignment for him.”

Malik was the sharpest of the Medici hunters; there was a soft intake of breath. “You would send _Leonardo_ to Monteriggioni?”

“The attempt on his life last week in the heart of Firenze itself was too close. Monteriggioni would be safer-”

“ _Safer_? Monteriggioni is the seat of the Auditore!”

“Giovanni Auditore himself has given me his word that Leonardo would be safe there.” Lorenzo kept his hands clasped in his lap. “You know what the Auditore are like.”

“I have heard of what they are like, but they are vampires,” Malik retorted, unconvinced.

“Which is why Leonardo will not be going alone. Lucy will go with him.” Judging his feet stable enough now, Lorenzo rose, handing the lantern to Malik; the hunter was dressed in dark robes, his only visible weapon the slender silver blade at his hip. “As will half of his assistants. He will continue his work in Monteriggioni.”

“I hope you will not regret your gamble.” Malik said sourly.

“In diplomacy, when you meet an immovable force, you subvert it,” Lorenzo pointed out, as they walked towards the splintered remains of the double door of the church. “And Leonardo is very good at doing so.”

II.

The black eagle with the red bars over its fanned tail rode the updraft over the farmlands, searching for a safe place to roost before sunrise. It was tired, and weary, and disliked the scent of Italia; rich with humans and vampires alike. Beneath him he passed a blackened farm, the once-sprawling house now a tangle of matchsticks, rotting skeletons of livestock partially buried in dying grass.

Robert De Sable was here, somewhere.

Spotting a still-intact barn, the sole remaining seemingly whole structure for miles, the eagle banked, circling downwards slowly until it alighted on the grass, shaking itself out. Talons grew into booted feet and feathers to fingers, and a man stretched out towards the sky, taking one careful step forward, and then another, his balance thrown by the long flight. Robed and cowled in black and red, bracers on both wrists and a carefully wrapped silver blade at his hip, he stumbled into the barn, still trying to reconcile his senses out of an eagle’s focus – which was why he didn’t notice the current occupant of the barn until it was on his shoulders.

Instantly, he snarled and rolled, wrestling with the weight on his back and rearing away from snapping jaws, clawing at heavy wool and then at short hair for a grip. _Another vampire!_ his sense of smell told him, and without thinking, he instantly unsheathed his left blade through the gap in his fist, punching the silver blade deep into his assailant’s shoulder.

The other vampire howled in shock and pain, scrambling back and away. A fledgling, he surmised, fresh from turning, his amber eyes still bloodshot, still crazed from hunger, dressed in a simple white tunic and breeches, barefoot. He reached for his blade, thinking to put the creature out of his misery – with no sire about to teach him, the fledgling would either starve quickly or be killed – and then he paused, sniffing. No human blood scent on the fledgling, only animal. Curious.

“You are a goddamn vampire yourself,” the fledgling hissed, amber eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck do you have silver?”

He blinked. The fledgling could already remember how to speak? “I hunt vampires.”

“That was bloody obvious, unless you have a death wish,” the fledgling was grimacing as he inspected his still smoking wound. Silver was poisonous to their kind, but rest and proper feeding would heal it, if slowly. “I asked why.”

“I am hunting my sire.” He admitted, even more curious now. The fledgling did not look native; his features appeared Middle Eastern, at the very least. “Fledgling-”

“My name is Desmond. Desmond Miles,” the fledgling scowled. “You can kill your sire? I thought vampires couldn’t kill their sires.”

“I can certainly try my best,” he drawled. He had fought his sire before, even if he had been unsuccessful each time in killing him-

“Teach me,” the fledgling said, much to his surprise. “What is your name?”

“I am called Altaïr,” he said warily, “And I have no time to babysit fledglings.”

“You’re not from these parts,” Desmond countered. “Would you even know how to look for whoever it is? But if it’s a vampire you are looking for, I may have a friend who can find out. If you can get me to Firenze, teach me how to control the hunger, I’ll introduce you.”

Altaïr was about to refuse, his eyes narrowed, when he took in the sharpened stake on the hay. Freshly chipped. Frowning, he looked back up at Desmond, who offered him a grim smile. “It’s either that, or you help me stake myself right now. I was working myself up to it when you happened to drop by. Too chicken to get a sunburn. This way seems faster.”

“Many people enjoy being vampires.” Altaïr said slowly.

“Do you?” Desmond shot back bitterly.

Sometimes, watching the glare of the sunlight that filtered through gaps of whatever cellar or abandoned structure he sheltered in after sunrise, Altaïr could almost remember what it felt like to walk in the daylight. Instead of answering, however, he snorted and sat down on a bale of hay, cross-legged. “To Firenze, and then I will take my leave.”

“I said-”

“I cannot teach you how to control the hunger,” Altaïr interrupted flatly. “Either you do, or you do not. Have you eaten at all?”

“Only animals.”

“You will not last on animals.”

“I know,” Desmond snapped, “But I do not trust myself with a person, and hell, what am I supposed to say, walk up to the nearest human and go, ‘Greetings, I am a vampire, do you mind if I take a bite’?”

Altaïr sighed. “Where I came from, and the places I passed through into Italia, the remote towns in particular tend to give freely, if you pay.”

“Italia will be a nice surprise for you then,” Desmond said, sniffing the air absently. “The freehold humans do not take very kindly to vampires; and the territory humans are defended very fiercely. My asshole of a sire dropped me off here to see which party I’d piss off first, I think.”

“I see,” Altaïr said, somewhat taken aback. He had not expected such a problem – perhaps this was the reason why Robert de Sable had finally fled here, to Italia, where surviving long enough to hunt him might be a dilemma. “Can your friend help?”

“I don’t think so. She’s a hunter.”

“Then _why_ -”

“If anyone knows where to find my sire – or yours – it’ll be her.” Desmond closed his eyes. “The last I heard, she moved to Firenze with the rest to work for the Medici. Duke Lorenzo is drawing hunters from everywhere, and paying good money for them.”

“And you want to walk into Firenze – the capital of the Medici’s territory – and look for your friend,” Altaïr said sarcastically.

“She’ll probably know that we’re coming from a mile away. Hopefully she’ll ask questions first and stake later,” Desmond’s lip twitched upwards briefly, and Altaïr restrained the urge to stab his newfound companion a second time. “Hopefully, anyway. The last my sire told me, before leaving me here to fend for myself, was that she’s working for a big-shot vampire hunter now. From Syria. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

“Must you talk so much?”

“His name is Malik Al-Sayf,” Desmond said, unperturbed, “He’s pretty well known around these parts. Heard he lost his brother and an arm to the vampires. If we meet him it’ll probably be stake first, ask questions later… whoah, whoah, watch the silver!”

Desmond had frozen instantly when Altaïr had pounced on him, the silver blade pressed against his neck. “You are proving to be increasingly annoying, fledgling,” Altaïr growled, his eyes narrowed. “So I trust you will keep your next answer relevant. Tell me what you know about Malik Al-Sayf.”


	2. Chapter 2

I

Even in the daytime, the sprawling fort that housed the ancestral home of the Auditore line looked intimidating from a distance.  It was heavily fortified, and the watchtowers evidently provided the Auditore _condottieri_ with an encompassing view of the countryside.  A small contingent of cavalry was already riding out to meet them from the gates, even as their wagons wound slowly up the paved path towards the villa. 

Leonardo looked up briefly at the sound of approaching riders, glanced over at Lucy, and then turned back to his scribbling, his journal balanced precariously against the pommel of the saddle.  Lucy looked up into Heaven for patience, and looked over to her second-in-command, another of the Medici’s hunters, a silent, thin man known only as Piero.  At her nod, he inclined his head, trotting his horse closer to Leonardo as Lucy spurred hers forward to meet the contingent.  If they proved hostile, or if she sensed a trap, Lucy would signal, and Piero would get Leonardo to safety, while the assistants would turn the wagons to form a defensive blockade. 

Lorenzo was too much of a humanist to say it in so many words, but Malik had: _if the worst comes to pass, only Leonardo’s survival is essential_.  With this in mind, Lucy put on her best smile as she made it into hearing distance of the troops.  “ _Buon giorno_ to the Auditore from _Duce_ Lorenzo de’ Medici,” she called, careful to observe body language.  The _condottieri_ looked wary, but relaxed, as though expecting allies. 

“ _Buon giorno, signorina_ Stillman,” the leader of the _condottieri_ was a heavyset man, with a pleasant smile; his eyes, Lucy noted, were clear and confident, not servile in the least.  Perhaps the rumors about the Auditore were true after all – they preferred fully autonomous humans for servants.  “Please accept our apologies.  We should have met you at our borders in escort.”

“No apology is necessary, _signore_ ,” Lucy inclined her head, turning her horse to accompany the _condottieri_ escort to her men.  “The _Duce_ wanted us to move with the utmost secrecy.  Hence our disguise as roving merchants.”

“You are most kind, _signorina_ Stillman,” the leader said, as they trotted up to Leonardo and Piero.  The leader looked between them, at the still-reading Leonardo to her increasingly skittish second-in-command, clearly trying to puzzle out which one was the diplomat.  “ _Buon giorno_ , sirs.  My name is Sebastian.  I am the captain of the _condottieri_ stationed in Monteriggioni itself.”

Grinning, Lucy took pity on him.  “ _Capitano_ Sebastian, this is Piero, my lieutenant.  And this is Leonardo da Vinci, the personal representative of the _Duce_ of Firenze.”

At the mention of his name, Leonardo reluctantly closed his journal.  “Oh, we are at Monteriggioni already? How pleasant! A fine example of thirteenth century architecture.  Note the turrets, the equidistant towers.  As Dante said,

_però che, come su la cerchia tonda_

_Montereggion di torri si corona,_

_così la proda che 'l pozzo circonda_

_torreggiavan di mezza la persona_

_li orribili giganti, cui minaccia_

_Giove del cielo ancora quando tuona_ -”

“Yes, very good, Leonardo,” Lucy pinched at the bridge of her nose, as the _condottieri_ stared in uncomfortable silence.  “Remember the conversation we had three hours ago?”

Leonardo smiled brightly at her.  “Was this regarding the circling _peregrino_ we saw-”

“No, Leonardo.”

“In that case, no,” Leonardo’s expression fell.  “Hopefully it was not important?"

Lucy sighed.  Malik owed her a big, big favor for this.

Past the gates, Sebastian cleared his throat.  “Sadly, we cannot take any of you into the villa until nightfall, _signore_ da Vinci, _signorina_ Stillman.  There are rules.  But I can show you to _signore_ da Vinci’s new workshop, and assign men to assist you in its set up.”

“Of course, _signore_.” Lucy said, careful to smile encouragingly. 

Naturally the vampires would not want a hunter within their sanctum during the day.  It was obvious that the _condottieri_ knew what she was, with their pointed, uneasy glances and whispered conversation, but then, it wasn’t as though Lucy went to much effort to hide the silver that she was wearing.  _She_ wasn’t the one here on diplomatic duties. 

“The workshop would be fine.” Leonardo said happily, evidently still having different priorities despite Lorenzo’s long lecture.  Still, Lucy could see why Leonardo was yet Lorenzo’s first choice as a diplomat, at least to seal alliances; the man’s reputation as an inventor and an artist preceded him, and at least on the surface, he appeared absolutely harmless.  Despite his air of distraction, however, Leonardo’s powerful mind was perfect in memory once he began an assignment; intelligent, resourceful, and eloquent, he was an excellent spy.

However, Malik – and Lucy – was convinced that Leonardo served a far better purpose in a workshop than in a Court, but regarding Monteriggioni their opinion differed.  Malik had not been the one close at hand when the vampire pack had dropped out of the sky, seeking Leonardo’s blood; Lucy had been, her and three men who had stayed behind to delay the pack as she ran Leonardo to safety.  Three men whom she had to bury, the next day, with their heads in different graves, just to be safe, her hands on the hilt of the axe and her heart in her stomach.  Firenze could no longer protect Leonardo.

 

II.

 

Malik was pacing in Lorenzo’s office when the pigeon arrived, fluttering onto the windowsill, a message on its leg.  Setting it into the coop and unraveling the scroll, Malik breathed out a sigh of relief.  “They have made it to Monteriggioni untroubled.”

“Good.” Lorenzo relaxed.  The Duke of Firenze was bent over a map of Venezia, studying the byways and canals, triangulating the possible location of the Borgia vampire from the last known sightings of the husks.  “You will be traveling ahead to Venezia.  Federico Auditore will meet you here-” the Duke circled a farmhouse marked in red on the map.  “He will assist you.”

“I do not work with vampires,” Malik growled, folding his arms.  He had had this conversation many times with Lorenzo, and-

“You must.  You are the best of my men, Malik, but a trueblood vampire is beyond even your considerable skills.” Lorenzo did not look up as Malik circled around to his side to look at the map.  “Pick some men to go with you.  Once the Borgia vampire falls, you must move quickly.”

“ _Si_ , _Altezza_.” Malik was already thinking over the choices in his mind.  “I will leave Hastings here in my stead to guard you, and take Rebecca and her team with me.  That should be sufficient.” Worry was threaded almost imperceptibly into his tone.  Italia knew that without Lorenzo and his constant efforts at diplomacy, the shaky alliances between the freehold humans would quickly collapse.  As it were, the Sforza had only, this morning, grudgingly agreed to cooperate.

“Hastings will be enough.” A bookish, thin man from the British Isles, Hastings was a sharp tempered man with a sharper tongue, but he knew his way around a crossbow and a blade.  “Go in peace, Malik.  God willing, come back safely.”

“What will you do next, _Altezza_?” Malik asked, a little unconvinced.  “Do you still intend to speak with Giovanni again?”

“I must.  But it will not be here.  I will not invite him into the palazzo,” Lorenzo assured him, though in a building so large, often an invitation was easily tricked from its servants or its many visitors and guests: Malik knew this much; the hunter’s eyes were narrowed. 

“I will have Hastings shadow you at all times-”

“ _Per favore_ , do not,” Lorenzo said wryly.  “Hastings has a foul temper.  He means well, but it can be very trying, and I am constantly engaged in diplomatic meetings.  If you recall, the _last_ time he was present, when we met the emissary from the Ottoman Empire…”

“We were at war with them anyway,” Malik shrugged, though he smiled thinly at the memory.  Hastings had been patient for all of two hours while Lorenzo had debated trivial matters with the Ottoman diplomat, assigned on guard duty as the rest of the Medici’s hunters had been busy on other matters.  His comments on the Ottoman diplomat’s depth of mind and breadth of his Empire’s interests had been too sharp for even Lorenzo’s considerable talent at diplomacy to defuse, and the emissary had instantly returned to the Empire in a state of high dudgeon.  “Then what do you propose, _Altezza_?”

“If we show our enemies fear, that is the first step in our defeat.  I will be as cautious as always, but I cannot seem afraid.” Lorenzo clasped Malik’s hand firmly.  “Go to Venezia without hesitation.  You will be hunting a trueblood vampire, the biggest prey of your career, even if you have another trueblood at your side.  Yours is the life that will soon be in mortal danger.”

“If the worst comes to pass, then it has been an honor to work for you, _Duce_.”

The Duke exhaled.  “Never speak of death-”

“-for what comes after can be far worse.” Malik inclined his head.  “I hope you can truly trust the Auditore.  Certainly I will not be trusting the whelp that they will send with me.”

Lorenzo sighed, voicing an old sentiment.  “This battle has been too long and too difficult for you, Malik.”

“A long time ago I learned to hate vampires.  So far, they have given me no reason to think otherwise.” Malik bowed deeply.  “I will speak to Hastings.”

 

III.

 

The sun had set by the time the workshop was nearing an acceptable state of Leonardo-styled chaos, and the artist was setting up his easel, whistling something cheerful under his breath.  His assistants had retired for the night, and Piero was outside, ostensibly taking a walk but actually securing the small perimeter of the corner of the fort that they had been allocated.

A two-storey building served as Leonardo’s workshop and residence; beside it were a set of terrace houses set against the wall that contained sufficient room to house his assistants and guards.  Lucy opted to stay in the spare room in the workshop, despite raised eyebrows from the more conservative members of the _condottieri_.  At present, she sat on a chair beside a work desk already cluttered with half-finished paintings and scrolls of schematics, fletching crossbow bolts. 

“It is so beautiful in the countryside,” Leonardo said as he worked, screwing on bolts and clamping together struts with the ease of practice.  “So restful, and the air is so much crisper.”

“If you discount all the vampires, sure,” Lucy said, as kindly as she could, slotting a completed bolt in the quiver beside the compact compound crossbow that Leonardo had designed personally and balanced for her use.  Accurate, powerful and deadly, its stock was also flecked with gorgeous silver designs of a striking hawk, stylized feathers arcing down the curved yew lath. 

Leonardo sighed, stopping briefly to glance up at Lucy, and then he shook his head and returned to his work.  “Perhaps a recurring problem of our situation as humans is a constant insistence on perceiving the vampires as monsters.”

“Intelligent monsters,” Lucy allowed, with a quick smile.  Unfortunately, her choice of words was poor: Leonardo merely frowned.  Malik had warned her that this was one of Leonardo’s pet topics, an unusual sentiment for a weaponsmith whose devices and weapons had all but cleared Firenze and most of Medici-held territory from vampire infestation.

“They are not all monsters.  The _Duce_ successfully negotiated with the Auditore, did he not?  I prefer to see them as a longer-lived version of humanity.  A consistent failure to communicate is partly what has led to this fief-divided Italia, I think, with its uneasy alliances and constant warring.  War is the great monster, not the vampires, particularly if it is over differences in lifestyle.”

“You think we can live in peace with them?” The incredulous words burst from her before Lucy could control herself.  “Would a failure to communicate be the reason why my parents and my sister were turned into husks? Husks that but for Malik’s coincidental intervention would have killed me? The vampires laughed when they left the husks to hunt me, Leonardo.  I was _twelve_.  They are monsters.”

“Many of them are monsters,” Leonardo said quietly, though by the tone of his voice it was clear that he had not budged from his sentiment.  “So are many humans.  It is a defect of character, not of nature.  But I am sorry, I know what happened to your family.”

“You have been kind to me,” Lucy allowed, forcing her instinctive anger back down her throat, turning back to the crossbow bolts.  “You are kind to everyone.  But sometimes I find it hard to believe how you can be so… so _positive_ about the vampires, given the number of attempts on your life to date.”

“They try to kill me because what I do threatens them, Lucy.  It is, in a way, self-defense.  Were there no vampires at all, and was I then yet a weaponsmith for the Medici, no doubt there would be human assassins from other ruling families.” Leonardo shrugged.  “I do what I must to keep my friends alive.  I do not hate the vampires for trying to do the same.”

“Father was not speaking lightly when he said you would be a very interesting human, Leonardo da Vinci.” The velvet purr came from all around them, like a silky echo.

Instantly, Lucy had a bolt cocked in her crossbow, crouched at Leonardo’s side, looking around sharply.  “Show yourself, vampire.” She should have _known_ that a vampire would not need to be invited to enter the workshop.  This was, after all, their territory. 

“Lucy, put that away, please.” Leonardo had a thumb pressed over the catch, hindering the spring.  At her annoyed glare, he smiled warmly.  “Please?”

Grudgingly, despite herself, she lowered the crossbow and allowed Leonardo to take it from her and prop it against the easel.  Besides, by herself, against a trueblood vampire, away from Firenze and its secrets, she was at an overwhelming disadvantage.  Still, she had the hidden silver blade in her left wrist, and the pistol with the blessed silver bullets in her right, both of Leonardo’s devising.  She was not unarmed.

The vampire melted out of the shadows in the corner of the workshop closest to the door, arms folded behind his back, dressed in a dark blue vest over a flowing white shirt, gray breeches tucked into high oxblood boots.  Silky, dark mahogany hair framed a vampire’s pale skin in wavy tresses, bound loosely at his neck with a crimson ribbon, his eyes feral orange.  He looked them both over, amused, and then bowed deeply.  “It is a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman, _signorina_ Stillman.  And of course, the famous engineer of the Medici, _signore_ Leonardo da Vinci.  I am Ezio Auditore.”

The second son, Lucy recalled warily, flinching as Leonardo bowed in turn, with a courtier’s grace.  “It is our honor to meet you, _signore_.”

“You are our guests.  Please, call me Ezio.” Ezio said, with a flirtatious wink at Lucy that made her scowl in return, her hands itching for the weight of her crossbow.  “ _Signore_ Leonardo, my uncle has expressed a wish to meet you.  If I could escort you both to the villa I would be much obliged.  I apologize for the lateness of the hour.”

“Of course,” Leonardo said, with a glance back over his shoulder at Lucy, who nodded slowly at him.  “I would love to meet the rest of your family.  I heard that your older brother will be assisting a good friend of mine on his mission.”

“Federico? Yes, he has already left for Venezia,” Ezio led the way outside, grinning wickedly as a patrolling Piero did a double-take, stifling an oath.  “I trust your accommodations are to your liking?”

“They are very spacious, thank you.” Lucy decided to let Leonardo do the talking, falling a step behind them, on the alert.  “I had thought that we could meet your father, _signore_ Giovanni Auditore.”

“My father is also not in residence, _mi dispiace_ ,” Ezio said smoothly.  “He departed for Firenze this evening.”

It took all of Lucy’s self-discipline to keep her expression calm as the vampire’s eyes flicked over to regard her.  Thankfully, Leonardo spoke before she could.  “Firenze? Another meeting with the _Duce_ , perhaps?”

“ _Si_ , a meeting, to discuss strategy,” Ezio said, as they ambled along wide, deserted streets towards the wide tiered stairway that led up towards the villa.  “Father was very impressed by your Duke Lorenzo.”

“Or by the taste of his blood,” Lucy muttered under her breath.  Could a messenger pigeon fly faster than a vampire? She doubted it… and could only hope, _trust_ that Lord Lorenzo had been as cautious as always.  Hopefully Malik would not yet have left Firenze. 

“Or that.” Vampiric hearing picked up her words, but Ezio merely grinned at her, unrepentant, as they scaled the stairs.  “We are not brought up to desire fresh blood, _signorina_ ; you need not look at me so.  Father left us with unequivocal instructions to keep _signore_ Leonardo and his entourage under our protection.”

Much good _that_ would do them; a vampire’s word could be rescinded at any time.  Still, Lucy forced herself to keep her counsel as they approached the villa, tuning out Leonardo’s architectural chatter and studying the grounds instead.  The villa was set on a natural hill that put its rooftops on par with the watchtowers.  A team that scaled the walls could bypass the choke point of the stairways by running along the battlements and dropping down into the manicured garden.  Still idly thinking this over, Lucy stepped through the double doors and into the marble foyer of the Auditore villa; and into the presence of the most number of trueblood vampires she had ever seen in one place. 

A broadly built, imposingly tall vampire stood before them, his face scarred, one eye milky white and crisscrossed by the unhealthy pink of silver-caused scars.  There was a longsword at his hip, probably decorative, and he was dressed in severe, military-cut vests and doublets.  Beside him was a much younger vampire, running a little to fat, his smile bright and friendly, his fine hair worn to his shoulders.  On the tall vampire’s left were two women, both dressed impeccably in fine dresses, hair coiffed; the older one had a kindly smile, her features delicate and timelessly beautiful; the younger’s smile was more hesitant, her expression curious rather than demure.

“My uncle Mario Auditore,” Ezio introduced, with a wave at the tall vampire.  “My mother, Maria… my lovely sister, Claudia, and last but not least, my little brother, Petruccio.  Everyone, this is Leonardo da Vinci, and Lucy Stillman.”

“Pleased.” Mario said gruffly, opting for shaking Leonardo’s hand roughly instead of bowing. 

“It must have been a tiring journey,” Maria’s tone was soothing, motherly, even.  “Would you like some refreshments, _signorina_ Stillman? I believe the men wish to talk privately.”

“I am here as Leonardo’s guard, _Madonna_ ,” Lucy said as politely as she could.  “I cannot leave his side.”

“I’ll be fine, Lucy,” Leonardo said encouragingly.

“The _Duce_ was very specific, Leonardo,” Lucy disagreed, her eyes narrowed, and eventually, Leonardo broke their stare, his smile turning a little hesitant as he looked back towards Ezio. 

“I very much commend _signorina_ Stillman’s dedication,” Ezio said gracefully, and his mother nodded, her answering smile just as quick. 

“I will have refreshments sent to Mario’s study, then.  Perhaps later we can have another talk, _signore_ Leonardo.  I have seen some of your work.  It would be my great pleasure if you could agree to paint a family portrait – if you have the time.”

“Of course, _Madonna_.  _Grazie_ for your kind interest in my work.” Leonardo bowed, as Maria, Claudia and Petruccio withdrew, heading for the mezzanine, while Mario led them through a room with an architectural representation of Monteriggioni and towards a stately study, maps pinned on the walls and bookshelves lining the wall before them.  Lucy noted that on her left, an open doorway led out towards the garden, facing another door to what looked like some sort of armory.

“My brother Giovanni and your Duke Lorenzo suit each other well,” Mario said without preamble, folding his arms as he leant against his desk.  “Both are a little crazy.  I cannot see what is the benefit in allying with Medici hunters to take a city that we cannot access or need; and as to your Duke Lorenzo, I cannot see why he has sent us his trump card as a diplomat.  So.  Try to clear up my confusion, _signore_ Leonardo-the-diplomat.”

Ezio winced, but Lucy had to hide her grin by biting down on her lip.  The bluntly spoken old vampire had just hit on all of her questions. 

“Venezia is one of the biggest ports in Italia,” Leonardo said, without hesitation, his ingratiating smile quick and easy on the eye.  “And it is not easily accessible to vampires.  Its fleet is under Borgia control, with the Doge puppet, and the fleet routinely harasses other territories-”

“Our territories are not bounded by the sea,” Mario interrupted sharply, “Nor should we care about a city riddled with canals.”

“A city inaccessible by vampires would make it a perfect place to hoard any items, information, documents that the Borgia would want hidden from the Auditore or any of the other trueblood families,” Leonardo changed tack smoothly.  “And with access to its fleet, even should you have no interest in expanding your territory, surely the words ‘asset denial’ should be of some weight to you.  The Borgia hold many port territories.  The most powerful fleet in Italia is Venezia’s.”

“Vampires cannot use ships.”

“You have _condottieri_ , and the _Duce_ has sailors,” Leonardo countered.  “The Borgia need more resources in their war than blood, than what is available in Italia.  Choke off their routes, turn their allies against them, take their fleet and use it to retake the port territories.  Other than those along the Adriatic, they hold Napoli and Roma – also seabound territories.  If in the end you wish to make an assault on Roma, you will need a fleet.  I,” Leonardo added, a little more modestly, “Have had some success in designing cannon.”

“You describe a long battle, diplomat,” Mario mused, his eyes narrowed, “One over which we cannot have direct control.”

“Your _condottieri_ can be trained for sea, and no doubt you trust them,” Leonardo countered.  “And this is an alliance that the _Duce_ proposes, _signore_ Mario, not servitude.”

Mario grunted, seemingly satisfied.  “And why are you here, _signore_ Leonardo? Surely you can make your cannon just as well in Firenze.”

“The _Duce_ -” Lucy began, with the answer that Lorenzo had prepared for her, flowery terms about _trust_ and _treasures_ , but Leonardo interrupted, his smile wry.

“I am afraid that it seems Firenze is not safe for me, _signore_ Mario.  There have been multiple attempts on my life since the last matter with the Pazzi.” Lorenzo had, with Leonardo’s devices and Malik’s leadership, driven the Pazzi family out of Firenze into their countryside estates.  Granted, the trueblood Pazzi had been occupied elsewhere in a dispute with another vampire family, but the lieutenants that they had left behind had still been deadly, but no match for trained humans armed with Leonardo’s devices. 

Oddly enough, however, both vampires relaxed almost imperceptibly; Ezio even went as far to clap Leonardo carefully on his shoulder.  It seemed that Leonardo’s instinctive talent at choice of words and his charisma had once again worked to his advantage.  “You will be safe here, _signore_ Leonardo.  We have promised your master.”

“I never liked the Pazzi,” Mario straightened from the desk.  “Ezio, I am assigning you to Leonardo.  They might be stupid enough to try their tricks in Monteriggioni.  _Signore_ Leonardo, I think my sister-in-law wanted to speak to you about a portrait.  If your Duke authorizes you to share your inventions, perhaps we should speak again about defensive devices.”

“I would be more than happy to do so,” Leonardo said happily, even though Lucy was _sure_ that Lorenzo had given no such authorization.  “I have schematics in my workshop that I can amend to suit Monteriggioni.  After all, we are allies now.”

“You are the first freehold human I have ever met who does not stink of fear, distrust or hatred, _signore_ Leonardo,” Mario said, not bothering to look at Lucy.  “Welcome to Monteriggioni.”


	3. Chapter 3

I

“I think we were _told_ to be careful, _Altezza_.”

Shaun Hastings was unfailingly polite while addressing Lorenzo, something which Lorenzo had always found rather curious, given that the hunter on his poorer days could be rude even to the cantankerous Malik Al-Sayf.  Still, the Duke could tell that Hastings’s patience even where the ruler of Firenze as concerned was getting strained, and he _had_ to admit that it was entirely his fault.  Deciding to trust the missive during this hour of the night had been sheer folly, even if he had been weary from a day’s worth of diplomatic meetings followed by financial matters.

At present Hastings and Lorenzo were standing on the middle of the _Ponte Vecchio_ , the only reason that they were still alive being the running water of the Arno River beneath them.  To their right, Vieri de’ Pazzi sat on a chair, just out of the _Ponte Vecchio_ , a small army of husks hissing and hunched around him as he rolled a dice to determine how many of his creatures he would send across the bridge to attack them at any one time.  To their left, at the other end of the bridge, there was a similar wall of husks.

Despite Lorenzo’s attempts to help, Hastings had backed him up onto a small loading platform and stood before it in a defensive crouch, long out of bullets, the withered corpses of silver-slain husks at his feet or littering the bridge, bloodied from scratches and bites and down to a dagger and his hidden blade.  Lorenzo himself was not unscathed; his left sleeve had been ripped to ribbons, and he was bleeding from a set of deep scratches.  They had already signaled for aid, with one of Leonardo’s pocket flares, but none had arrived; Vieri had even _laughed_.

Worried about the others, Lorenzo again quietly cursed his own stupidity.  He should have known that Giovanni would have been _highly_ unlikely to send him a letter to meet elsewhere; the trueblood would have simply shown up at his doorstep, knowing the Auditore.

“If you jump here, you can swim away,” Lorenzo said quietly.  “You can get aid.”

“I think we have already discussed that, _Duce_ ,” Hastings said flatly.  “Respectfully, I won’t leave you alone here, _you_ cannot swim and if _I_ have to swim with you flailing in tow we will just get caught.  Not to mention how in the world are we going to get ashore without that wanker over there in the chair catching up to us? Without Malik here none of us have a chance of killing him, anyway.  So we are going to wait here for the sunrise and hopefully he will fry.”

“But you-”

“I can keep this up the whole night,” Hastings snapped, flicking Vieri a rude gesture as the trueblood laughed.  Cornering them on the bridge had clearly been Vieri’s motive all along.  Soon Hastings would be utterly exhausted and would make a mistake that would cost him more than a minor wound.

Lorenzo flinched as the dice rattled on the paved stone.  “Three,” Vieri drawled, with a gesture, and three walking corpses darted up the bridge from his side, clawed hands outstretched. 

Watching them come, his knuckles white on a silver blade, Lorenzo recalled Leonardo’s conclusions on vampires and husks.  It was commonly known that a husk was created when a vampire did not exchange blood with its victim upon draining it dry.  There was an element in blood, Leonardo had concluded, that automatically fought off the vampire virus.  Without it, these pale, milky-eyed walking bodies were left, either animated by their sire’s will or driven by the base desires of hunger.  It was the body’s instinct to replenish its lost resources, Leonardo had theorized, operating on scent and the barest level of sight.  Scent bombs confused them-

-where they were not directly controlled.  As Lorenzo watched, feeling helpless, Hastings darted away from a lunge, drawing his silver dagger sharply up in a vicious swipe that took off the husk’s head.  The second he dispatched with a palm slamming up the creature’s chin, the hidden blade driving up into its skull.  As the husk fell, however, it clutched hissing at Hastings, and the hunter was pulled off balance with a yelp, staggering back.  The third had leaped for Lorenzo, pulling itself with unnatural ease up the platform, only to fall back as the Duke stabbed it between the eyes.  Decapitation or silver in the brain or heart destroyed the creatures just like vampires. 

“Hastings?”

“I’m fine,” Hastings shook off the death grip in disgust.  “Apologies, _Altezza_.”

“No, no.” Lorenzo said, with a sigh, noting how Hastings’ hands were shaking a little from sheer weariness.  “You should rest.  Let me take over.”

“ _Si_ , and Malik will skin me when he hears about it,” Hastings drawled.  “No, you stay there, _Duce_ , and think about how much of a payrise you might be giving me after tonight.”

“We could perhaps, the other side of the bridge-”

“That many of them? I wouldn’t risk it.  Especially since we spent so much effort getting here in the first place.” Hastings looked up briefly at the sky.  “Few more hours to daybreak.  Easy.”

“Thank you, Hastings.” Lorenzo said softly, firmly, “But you are about to collapse on the spot.  I _will_ be taking over.”

“Again with all respect, but bullshit, _Altezza_ …” Hastings paused as Vieri stood up, looking behind him.  There was some sort of disturbance with the husks behind Vieri; from his vantage point, Lorenzo watched with some surprise as a man in a dirty white, cowled woolen tunic grabbed a husk with both hands and easily tore off its head.

 _Vampire_.  Yellow eyes in the torchlight from a stand against the wall beside him – a turned one.  Behind him was another turned vampire, cowled in black, oddly armed with a silver blade that drove through a husk’s chest, and they were arguing loudly. 

“I think I explained _stealth_ to you, _ghaban_.”

“You saw what was happening! He’s just going send these pieces of shit after them until they die!”

“They are _humans_ ,” the armed vampire growled irritably, “Let us just leave and find your friend.  That one there is a _trueblood_ , fledgling.  You are in no state to even scratch him.”

“Hold.” Vieri held up a hand, and the husks drew back, hissing, as he looked the two newcomer vampires over.  “Listen to your friend, fledgling.  I have no quarrel with you, and perhaps you do not know the identity of the man you are trying to save.  That one in the robe is Duke Lorenzo de’ Medici, one of the leaders of the freehold humans and the master of the hunter pack.”

The fledgling’s response was unexpected.  Turning to his friend, he said, “See? I told you the human looked important.  He’s Lucy’s boss.  _And_ Malik’s.  If we want help…”

To Lorenzo’s even greater surprise, the armed vampire sighed, dropping into a battle-ready crouch.  “Fine.”

Vieri frowned, confused.  “Kill them.”

The husks surged forward, snarling.  The armed vampire easily cut down those in his path, fast as quicksilver, ducking swipes and weaving neatly around bites, slashing and slicing in deadly arcs of metal.  The fledgling, however, had no weapons but his own vampiric strength, and was getting the worst of it, howling as husks bit down on his wrists and legs.

“Nice show,” Hastings said, sitting down on the edge of the platform.  Uneasily, Lorenzo nodded slowly.  His instinct was to instruct Hastings to assist, but they were both exhausted, and besides, it was easy to do the math.  Two made vampires against a trueblood, even if they did not look as travel worn as those two, would still be facing insurmountable odds.

Unconsciously, Lorenzo reached up to his neck, over the faint white scars that were all which were left of the bite, rubbing over them absently and wondering where Giovanni was.  With Malik and Lucy away, he would have to ask for one more of the trueblood’s sons-

The fledgling had been swarmed under a hissing pack of husks, but the armed vampire was advancing on Vieri, blade held low, ignoring the plight of his companion.  Vieri grinned and attacked, dodging a swipe with unnatural speed and backhanding the armed vampire into a wall that cracked under the impact.  The vampire snarled in pain, scrambling to its feet, only for the silver blade to be wrenched out of his hand, Vieri hauling him up easily with fingers crushed around his neck.

“You are quite good, stranger,” Vieri conceded, tossing the blade aside.  “Perhaps if you were not so obviously starved or if you did not have to deal with my creatures this could have been a fairer fight.”

The vampire spat at him, and abruptly, Vieri was rearing back with a howl of pain, his hand almost severed from the wrist.  The vampire smirked contemptuously, the silver hidden blade sliding back into his bracer.  Lorenzo heard Hastings inhale sharply.  It was almost the same design as the blades they wore – the same design that Malik had brought with him from Syria, the one modified later by Leonardo so as not to require the sacrificed ring finger.

“It seems fair enough.”

“I am going to tear you apart,” Vieri snarled, hugging his injury to his chest, the shadows at his feet lengthening and writhing, the mark of a trueblood’s power.  The vampire crouched, circling back towards a torch, even as glaring eyes and bared teeth from disembodied mouths reared open from the shadows around it.

“He’d better run,” Hastings murmured, then he chuckled as the fledgling somehow threw off the husks upon it, from behind Vieri, and acting seemingly on instinct, jumped on the trueblood’s back, sinking his fangs into his shoulder. The shadows faltered as Vieri growled, twisting around to shake off the fledgling.

Instantly, the armed vampire pounced, hidden blade upraised, but Vieri was faster, grabbing him with a fistful of his robe and tossing him towards the bridge.  The vampire landed a foot into the _Ponte Vecchio_ and instantly began to convulse with a cry of pain, the running water of the Arno metres below him playing havoc with the vampiric curse.

Stepping down from the platform to help him, Lorenzo was brought up short by Hastings’ hand on his elbow and a quick shake of his head.  “A favor for a favor,” Lorenzo growled, pulling his arm out of Hastings’ grasp. 

“He’s a vampire, _Altezza_.”

“Look at it this way,” Lorenzo tried to appeal to Hastings’ logic where compassion or mere honor did not work.  “Do you have a better chance than that vampire of facing down Vieri and the other husks on the other side of the _Ponte Vecchio_?”

“Fine.  But you stay here.” Hastings jogged over to the vampire and kicked it off the bridge, where it lay on the flagstones, shuddering.  Vieri, however, didn’t even bother to look up, occupied in pinning the fledgling on the flagstones and by the sight of it, about to slowly twist off its head.  Hastings watched silently, his jaw set and his hands clenched over his daggers… and then help came from another unexpected source.

The armed vampire’s silver blade drove through Vieri’s back, and then as Vieri jerked to his feet in surprise, swept off his head.  “Dust to dust,” Giovanni said amiably, the rest of the vampire coalescing from the shadows against the wall, as flesh melted off Vieri’s frame, and then his bones, until all that was left scattered on the flagstones and on a very surprised looking fledgling were ashes.  Satisfied, the Auditore vampire dropped the silver blade.

The remaining husks screamed as one, only for shadows to snap out from around the torchlight to wrench off their heads.  Giovanni pulled the fledgling to his feet, and then reached out a hand for the armed vampire, which ignored it, scrambling to his own feet and picking up his blade.  On the other side of the bridge, Vieri’s husks were going berserk, milling around or running away down the streets.  Lorenzo grimaced.  They were going to be a problem.

“You’re late,” Hastings informed Giovanni as insolently as possible, sheathing his daggers at his belt. 

“I was not called until a few minutes ago,” Giovanni glanced at Lorenzo.  “Then I came here as quickly as I could.”

 _Called_? Lorenzo frowned, puzzled, before remembering fingers at the wound and flushed.  He glared at Giovanni meaningfully, who grinned at him, showing his canines.  They were going to have to discuss this later.

Hastings stretched a hand out as Lorenzo began to walk off the bridge.  “Wait.  Who are the two of you jokers? Not that it wasn’t fun to watch Vieri kick you poor bastards around, but what do you want with Lucy and Malik?”

“I am Lucy’s friend,” the fledgling said, inspecting the multiple bite wounds on his arms.

“Lucy? She hates vampires even more than I do.  So I really doubt that, kid.”

“I knew her _before_ I was turned,” the fledgling growled irritably.  “She was at Abstergo.  Then she left.”

Hastings exchanged a glance with Lorenzo.  _Abstergo_.  Lorenzo shook his head at Hastings, and pushed his hand gently aside, walking off the bridge.  “We will need to talk.  I do not know who you are and where you are from but you have my thanks. There is a warehouse not far from here.  Let us go there…” Lorenzo paused as he noticed both the fledgling and the armed vampire shifting, their stares focusing on his wounded arm.  “What?”

Giovanni slid a hand around the small of his back and hissed.  Instantly, both of the made vampires blinked, the fledgling even taking a step back.

“How long haven’t the both of you had blood?” Hastings had a dagger back in his hand again, his eyes narrowed.

“I’m not about to bite a _human_ ,” the fledgling sounded offended.

Lorenzo chuckled, amused by the unusual sentiment.  “What is your name?”

“Desmond Miles, er, _Altezza_.  And that silent, angry one behind me is called Altaïr, No Surname Worth Giving.”

“We need to talk and the both of you are starved.” Lorenzo drew his silver dagger, placing the edge against his palm.  “I suppose-”

“No.” Giovanni caught his hands gently but firmly. 

Irritated, Lorenzo glared at him.  “Giovanni.  Need I remind you that ours is an _alliance_? I will take no orders from you, not now, and not ever.”

“ _No_.” Giovanni jerked the blade from his hand, dropping it at his feet, and even as Hastings lunged from the bridge and Altaïr started forward, shadows swirled around them both, and melted away into the wall.

Hastings swore bitterly, looking up at the sky, and slammed one fist against the wall.  “God _damnit_.”

“I can sniff them out,” Desmond ventured meekly.  “They’re still in Firenze, I can sense that much.” He flinched when Hastings was suddenly standing right in front of him.  “What?”

“Bullshit.  Whoever heard of ‘sensing’ vampires? Not even dogs can sniff them out unless they’ve been feeding.  You’re both dead, so you just smell of dust.”

“I don’t care whether dogs can smell us or not, I can tell you right now,” Desmond growled, clearly annoyed, “That I can sense that this trueblood who just snatched your boss is somewhere to the northeast and underground.  All right? I don’t care if you’re going to follow me or not, but like I told Altaïr, since the _Duce_ is Lucy’s boss I’m going to try and help him anyway.  So fuck you and your attitude.”

Hastings blinked, a little impressed at the fledgling’s outburst.  Perhaps Abstergo did something to the fledgling, but he could sense no malice or mendacity in his words.  A little mollified, he added, “You were just tossed around by a trueblood, and now you’re going to go up against an even older trueblood for _Lucy_?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m going to win, but I don’t know, I have to try, right? I mean, since _I’m_ a vampire now, I guess I’ve got to put in some extra effort if she’s going to give me some help.”

Hastings looked over to Altaïr, who shrugged.  On a closer inspection, the armed vampire looked Middle Eastern, and his accent certainly reminded him a little of Malik.  “Unless you are willing to help us right now, human, I suppose we have to at least take a look.”

“Fine.  I might be going crazy but if Giovanni’s turned on us I need all the help I can get.  But first, try to come up with a dignified way by which I can at least give the both of you some blood.  You both look like you’re about to keel over, and I don’t want the two of you licking my wounds like fucking puppies.”

 

II

 

Lorenzo nearly panicked when they seemed to step from away from the crisp night air beside the _Ponte Vecchio_ into pitch darkness that smelled musty and disused.  Disoriented, blinded and all too aware that he was now alone and unarmed against one of the most powerful vampires in Italia, it took every inch of his poise and self-control to force down his fear.  Instead, he kept his voice coldly angry.  “Giovanni.  Take us back _this instant_." 

Giovanni growled, nothing human in that primal, bestial sound, nuzzling the scar on his neck, the sharp edge of a canine scraping across his skin.  A vice-like grip clamped him in place, and the darkness all around him whispered angrily in a low, papyrus-dry hum resonant of the oldest fear of mankind; of the night and all of the deep places.

“Giovanni!”

The fangs drew back, then a cool tongue rasped up over his cuts, drinking, lapping them closed; the voice that spoke echoed from around him.  “You are _mine_.”

“I am nothing of the sort,” Lorenzo snapped, kicking experimentally behind him but meeting only air.  “I am the Duke of Firenze and you, sir, are committing an outrage.”

“You tried to give them your blood.”

“They were _starving_.”

Another growl, deeper, this time.  “Do not do that again.  Not them, or any other vampire.  Understand?”

“You do _not_ command _me_ ,” Lorenzo snarled, then bit down sharply on a whimper of pain as fingers tightened over his arms.  What was he _doing_? Alone in the dark against a trueblood, and he was not using diplomacy in the least.  Taking a tight hold of his indignant anger, Lorenzo said, more calmly, “Giovanni, can we talk? Normally, _per favore_? You are hurting me.”

The fingers eased over his arms but did not let go, and Giovanni hummed against his neck, nuzzling him again over the scar, pressed against his back.  The vampire was _hungry_ , Lorenzo realized, with a start.  “When was the last time _you_ had blood?”

“The church,” Giovanni said indistinctly, against his skin.

“ _What_? Surely there is no shortage in Monteriggioni.” Vampires drank every other day, Leonardo had once told him, to fuel both their systems and their curse.  The longest they could go before becoming starved was four days.  After that, the weaker willed could turn berserk like any husk. 

It had been seven days since the church. 

There had to be some reason here, something he did not know, but his politician’s mind could only see the outline of a potentially unimaginable power.  Carefully, Lorenzo said, “Why are you holding back?”

“Say you’ll let me,” Giovanni all but moaned, rubbing against him like a cat, licking at his skin.  “ _Per favore_.”

Lorenzo nibbled at his lower lip, his mouth feeling suddenly dry.  “Can I trust you to stop?”

“Command me.”

“It… the neck is too obvious,” Lorenzo said with a studied calm that he no longer felt, pulling back the heavy sleeves from his arm and tapping the underside of his arm.  “Here.”

He was gently pushed back against something that pressed against the back of his knees, and when Giovanni spoke, he sounded a little more like his usual self.  “Sit down, _Altezza_.”

Lorenzo did so, steeling himself against the shock of the bite as he pushed Giovanni down towards his arm.  To his surprise, however, the instant ecstasy was muted, this time round, his logic remaining intact, the fog easily pushed aside.  On the other hand, Giovanni _groaned_ against his skin, shuddering, and Lorenzo gasped as he saw a vague stream of memories, _impressions_ ; flight in the crisp sky, as a thousand bats, laughter, a beautiful woman with a vampire’s slightly distended smile and gorgeously coiffed hair, hunger, speeding as a dark eagle towards the distant lights of Firenze, _fury_ -

“Stop.  Stop!”

Giovanni drew back instantly, with a low, unhappy sound, licking hopefully at the wound as Lorenzo blinked weakly in the dark, still stunned beyond words.  Finally, there was an embarrassed cough.

“Ah… perhaps I should not have left matters so late.  Please accept my apologies, _Altezza_.”

Relief that Giovanni sounded _normal_ again was coupled with the return of indignant anger.  “You have a _lot_ to explain, vampire.”

“Let us adjourn someplace a little more comfortable for you…”

“We are _not_ traveling like that again.  Find some way to make a light here, and then you had better have a very _good_ reason for your behavior.”


	4. Chapter 4

I

 

“The Ottoman people call it ‘imprinting’,” Leonardo said, as their snorting horses picked up their pace, trotting eagerly back towards the dim lights of faraway Monteriggioni.  Ezio had proposed a nighttime excursion through the Auditore estates, and Lucy was heartily bored, even if Leonardo seemed to find irrigation systems and signaling structures endlessly interesting.  “It is a very interesting arrangement.”

“I have heard about it, a little.” Ezio, much to Lucy’s dismay, also showed no sign whatsoever of being bored by Leonardo’s endless, disconnected chatter about the entire world; instead, the vampire seemed openly fascinated.  _Probably by his neck_ , Lucy felt, with some irritation, conscious of the weight of the silver dagger and crossbow at her hips.  “It is servitude.”

“A common misconception,” Leonardo corrected.  “I spoke to the Ottoman ambassador’s _arkadaş_ , and he was quite empathic on that point.”

“The… what?”

“The Ottoman ambassador had a vampire bodyguard,” Lucy interrupted shortly, before Leonardo began an exposition on linguistics.  “He was not invited into the palazzo, but Leonardo was tasked with entertaining him in the outer gardens.”

The Ottoman vampire had been skittish and hostile at being separated from the ambassador, but Leonardo’s charm and diplomacy had quickly won him over; by the end of an hour they had been chatting like old friends. 

“It was a good opportunity to practice both the language as well as acquire some firsthand.  But yes, as is commonly known, there are no non-trueborn vampires in the Empire save by accident or what they term ‘criminal negligence’, and the made vampires are invariably destroyed.”

That was good procedure, Lucy felt, her hands tightening a little over the reins, curious despite herself.  “And the truebloods?”

“The truebloods upon their birth are introduced in a heavily ritualized process to a suitable candidate, usually from one of the royal or noble lines, and if the candidate survives the process and the catatonic effect of the bite, the infant trueblood imprints on him.  It becomes a symbiosis.”

“How is it a symbiosis?” Ezio frowned.  “The vampire gains nothing from the bond, and becomes dependant on the human for blood.  The human gains everything.”

“The Ottoman people believe that a vampire is a soul damaged in the process of its creation, a human with no anchor on humanity.  Imprinting provides the anchor, as well as a socially acceptable source of blood, and, more importantly, peace between both species.  Certainly,” Leonardo added, as an afterthought, “It is a possible reason.  For example, the imprinted vampires can cross running water.  The Ottoman people have myths explaining this, quite poetic.  My favorite is the one that begins-”

“The bite is weaker from an infant?” Lucy interrupted quickly, before Leonardo could begin reciting verse.

“Much weaker.  As you know as well, Lucy, it has been unheard of for a human to fully survive an adult vampire’s bite – catatonia or brain damage is the result.  Though,” Leonardo added cheerfully, as their horses rounded a row of dense trees, “This is usually coupled with the actual psychological shock of the bite as well as weakness from severe blood loss.” 

“Once the human dies, the trueblood starves,” Ezio said slowly, his eyes distant, as though deep in thought. 

“To death,” Leonardo nodded, more soberly.  “The Ottoman ambassador’s _arkadaş_ felt that it was fair exchange.  I suppose if you are really curious, I can try to send word to him.  Even, ah, with what Hastings said to the ambassador, I think our parting was quite amicable.”

“It cannot be reversed?”

The vampire was _concerned_ , Lucy realized, belatedly.  It was very unlikely that the Auditore were involved in this sort of fairly one-sided exchange, particularly since their blood supply was donated from their bondsmen; and surely Ezio had little interest in the Ottoman Empire.  As to crossing running water, it was not usually a concern to the highly territorial Italian vampire _famigli_.

No, there _was_ something.  _Lord Lorenzo_.  The Duke of Firenze had returned from the church with a bite scar on his neck, a little weakened by loss of blood but was otherwise utterly unaffected.  Malik had fussed over him for _days_ like a mother hen, watching for any side-effects like a hawk, and had pronounced Lorenzo healthy, if grudgingly, after five days. 

If Lorenzo had survived the bite, then… or did the rituals play a part in it? Resolving to keep her peace until she was alone with Leonardo, Lucy tried to focus on the ongoing chatter.

“The Ottoman myths seem to suggest that it is not.  It is the focus of several popular classical tragedies.  The _arkadaş_ suggested a few for my further reading, when I have time.”

“You like the idea of ‘imprinting’.” The trueblood’s tone was accusing.

“I like any idea which may posit a possible solution to a cycle of endless violence,” Leonardo countered evenly.  “The Ottoman system is not perfect. As you can imagine, the nobles who are selected to have imprints are from the ruling houses, or the militant ones: it perpetuates a cycle of oppression and stifles any political dissent.  Whether it is a step in the right direction, I cannot say, but you cannot deny that it is _a_ solution.”

“We have a solution here,” Lucy pointed out, as Ezio seemed poised to object.  On Leonardo’s favorite topics, the argument could wind on forever.  “Diplomacy.”

“As to _that_ -” Ezio began, then paused, looking up sharply at an overhanging tree that they were approaching.  Lucy inhaled sharply as they trotted closer; the body of a Auditore _condottieri_ hung from the branch, a rope around his broken neck.  “Wait here.”

“Where are you going? You were _told_ to… hell.” Ezio had already melted from his horse in an upward swarm of climbing bats, and Leonardo smiled warmly at her open unease.

“He will come back.”

“We are alone, it is the middle of the night, and outside of the Auditore fort,” Lucy pointed out, her crossbow already in her hands, on high alert.  “And whoever dared to do that to an Auditore bondsman could still be around.  Let’s go.  If we hurry, we can make it back to the fort before whatever it is shows up.”

“Ezio told us to stay here-”

“We do _not_ take orders from a vampire,” Lucy snapped, reaching forward to grab the reins of Leonardo’s horse and digging her knees into hers.  “Agreeing to tour the countryside in the dark was already foolish enough!”

“All right,” Leonardo said doubtfully, with an uneasy glance up at the hanging body.  “Perhaps we should cut him down.”

“In the morning.” Lucy urged her horse onwards.  “Faster.”

Thankfully, Leonardo nodded, encouraging his steed to follow her pace.  “You looked like you wanted to ask a question, previously.  Your expression.”

Ezio seemed to be gone, and the road was as safe from prying ears as any.  “Did you know that Lord Lorenzo suffered a bite from Giovanni Auditore?”

“He did?” Leonardo looked startled.  “No, he never told me.  And he always wears those high-collared vests.”

“I only found out because Malik instructed me to bring disinfectant to the office.  He was arguing with the _Duce_ while attempting to apply it.” Lucy scowled at the road before her.  “It seems that the _Duce_ does not want it to be common knowledge.  But he trusts you, as I do.  Now that we are here, I think you should know.”

“I see.  Thank you for telling me.  That explains why Ezio was so tense.” Leonardo said thoughtfully.  “Giovanni must have tried to take blood normally, and could not.”

“Then, if he left for Firenze!”

“He left for Firenze a long time ago, Lucy.  But I think we should send a bird.  A neutral query.” Leonardo’s eyes were narrowed now, as he contemplated the distant lights of Monteriggioni.  “Perhaps it is not a good time to be in Monteriggioni… but no, Ezio, and Mario at least, must have known already about the imprinting… still I sensed no personal animosity… and the Pazzi may have followed us here…  no, we shall stay for now.  If Giovanni has truly imprinted on the _Duce_ , the _Duce_ will handle it.  We must remain here and smooth out any diplomatic problems that may arise.”

“Wait.  Stop.  Something is not right.” Lucy grabbed for the reins of Leonardo’s horse.  On the road before them, to her trained hunter’s eyes, the shadows from the trees seemed a shade too deep.  Quickly, she notched a silver bolt to her crossbow, and before Leonardo could protest, Lucy fired.

The shadow reared back with an unearthly howl of rage into a robed man that Lucy recognized instantly from sketches: _Francesco de’ Pazzi_ , his face florid and wreathed in thick dark hair.  He wrenched the silver tipped bolt from his shoulder and snarled, lunging forward in an amorphous, dark form of winking eyes that was roughly shaped like a gigantic cat, its pitch dark skin twisting with writhing shadow, as tall at the shoulder as her horse.  Lucy spurred her horse to the side, firing again, hoping to draw it away from Leonardo. 

“Go back to Monteriggioni!” she shouted, as Leonardo stared, shocked.  “Get aid!”

“I cannot just-”

“Go!” Vampires were faster than horses.  The both of them would not make it to Monteriggioni – unless Lucy provided a distraction.  Offering a quick prayer to God, Lucy notched and fired another bolt into Francesco’s side, making the vampire flinch and scream, dragging its amber orange eyes away from Leonardo’s retreat. 

She managed to dodge another lunge, and another, until the vampire _roared_ , and her horse’s nerve finally broke.  Its eyes rolling in fright, ignoring her commands, it began to bolt towards Monteriggioni.  A giant claw ripped its belly open, and the horse shrieked, rearing and falling heavily onto its side, pinning Lucy beneath it.

The cat snorted, hooking up her crossbow and crushing it underfoot, then swiping away her blade as Lucy fumbled for it.  “Medici bitch,” Francesco rumbled, in a lisp behind his dagger teeth.  “First I am going to break all your limbs.  Then I am going to fuck you until you wish you were dead, and drink you dry.”

“Go to Hell,” Lucy retorted, preparing to bite out her own tongue, apologizing silently to the _Duce_ and hoping that Leonardo had made it to Monteriggioni.

Much to her horror, she heard a shaky, “May God forgive me,” in Leonardo’s voice, and the cat howled in pain at the sound of glass shattering, and sprung back. 

Leonardo had a silver dagger in one hand and a glass sphere in the other, his saddlebag half-opened on the ground, filled with a pale fluid that seemed to hiss and smoke on Francesco’s skin.  His horse had fled.  “Lucy, are you all right?”

“ _What are you doing here?_ ”

“I do not want anyone else to die on my behalf!” Leonardo retorted, as Francesco shook itself, then snarled and lunged.  Leonardo aimed, and then dived to the side.  Glass smashed over Francesco’s eyes, and the scream the vampire made cause Lucy to clap her hands instinctively over her ears.  Blinded, clawing at its face and rolling in the dirt, the vampire snapped from form to form and frames in between, grotesque to watch. 

Leonardo’s hands were under her shoulder, and together, they dragged her out from under the dead horse.  Lucy winced as Leonardo examined her leg.  “Broken.  Clean break.”

“Give me the crossbow,” Lucy demanded.  “And what was in that sphere? Holy water does not work.”

“Silver nitrate.  Essentially, anyway.” Leonardo passed her the crossbow and her quiver.  “I had it in the saddlebags for further testing in Monteriggioni and forgot to take them out.  Luckily, they work.”

“You mean you weren’t _sure_?”

“Well, no,” Leonardo said, with a bright smile.  “That is part of the joy in scientific discovery.”

“It will not hold a trueblood for long.” Lucy predicted.  “Leave the bag here and go.  I’ll only slow you down.”

“I came back for you, Lucy.  I’m not leaving you to die.” Leonardo said quietly, even as the cat finally flowed into a trueblood’s formless dark shadows.  It would consume them both, Lucy knew, even as she fired silver into it, watching it flinch or form away from the bolts.  This was the real reason that a trueblood could not be beaten by humans-

Shadows from the road burst into the form of a massive one-eyed wolf, which barreled into Francesco, howling and snapping.  _Condottieri_ with silver weapons approached cautiously, splitting into two disciplined groups; the larger one watching the battle, the smaller team approaching Lucy and Leonardo.  Two men carefully supported Lucy onto a horse, mindful of her broken leg as they strapped her onto the saddle, Leonardo mounting another. 

Lucy cast one last look over her shoulder at the trueblood battle as they rode back towards Monteriggioni, gritting her teeth against the pain.  Beside her, Leonardo was addressing the nearest _condottieri_.

“That was _signore_ Mario Auditore?”

“ _Si_ , _Messer_.”

“ _Signore_ Ezio Auditore must have been drawn away.  Perhaps-”

“You and _signorina_ Stillman have done enough, _Messer_.  Let us take care of the rest.”

 

II

 

Malik looked about warily once he entered the tower, his hand on the hilt of his silver longsword.  The ground was littered with debris and overgrown with weeds, with the spiral stairway hugging the stone walls broken in several places, the wooden planning of the rooftop watchpoint long rotted. 

“The famous Malik al-Sayf,” A genial voice spoke from above him.  Malik glanced up sharply, his fingers tightening briefly.  Federico Auditore smiled at him, cross-legged on the spiral stair, hands folded in his lap and dressed richly in a maroon vest patterned with gold thread, flowing white sleeves choked with lace at the throat and his wrists.  “I thought you would be a little more imposing.”

“So your father truly did send me a whelp,” Malik sneered in response.  “I hope your sense of stealth is better than your wit.”

“There is more than one vampire about,” Federico said, unfazed by Malik’s words.  “The trueblood is Emilio Barbarigo.  There is another one whom I have been unable to identify, but he is not a trueblood.”

“The trueblood is the one which is of real concern.” Malik said, though he scowled.  _Two_ vampires would make life far more difficult. 

“I am not sure this plan is thought out well,” Federico observed.  “Even if we were to kill the both of them, you _are_ aware that the husks in Venezia will simply go berserk.  The commonfolk will be affected, and I cannot enter Venezia to assist you.”

“We’ll have to take that chance.” Malik hardened his heart. “Even if your father were to send _condottieri_ , there will be casualties.  A trueblood has to be killed swiftly, or it regenerates.”

“I know,” Federico said, with an ironic grin, slipping off his perch to land with unnatural grace on the debris.

“Confident?”

“Always.” Federico said cheerfully, making Malik grit his teeth.  The vampire took a small scroll from his vest and tossed it to Malik.  “Emilio will be in that church, marked with a circle.  The other one patrols.”

“Can you handle Emilio by yourself?”

“I thought you would want to be part of the kill,” Federico said slyly. 

Malik scowled.  “I will help with the guards and with the non-trueblood, but you know just as well that against the trueblood, I will probably only get in your way.  Unless you need me to hold your hand?”

“The great vampire hunter offers to hold my cloak, how could I refuse?” Federico’s finger traced a wide circle around the church.  “This is the patrol route.  If you can draw the non-trueblood away to keep him from raising the alarm, I can get into the church myself.”

“Act as bait,” Malik murmured.  “I can draw attention.”

“Of course.  Shout imprecations at the church, whatever you want.  If you can kill the non-trueblood, so much the better.”

“Do not insult me.” Malik rolled up the scroll and slipped it into his belt.  “Can _you_ kill Emilio?”

“We’ll find out,” Federico smiled, unworried.  “The war's been at a stalemate for quite a while.  We should both be equally rusty.”

If he had any luck, both truebloods would kill each other, Malik felt.  “I’ll ride out around the patrol line.  You can watch.  Once I’ve drawn the made vampire away, you know what to do, I hope.  When I’m finished, I’ll come back, see if you need any… help.”

“Good luck on your hunt,” Federico grinned.  “I would offer to shake hands, but I think you would cut off my wrist.”

Malik snorted, brushing past to go back to his horse.  The animal showed nervousness once it saw Federico, but allowed him to mount, its fear showing in its flicking ears as Federico melted into the shadows.  Self-consciously, Malik spurred the horse towards the distant shape of the church, consulting the map and noting every mark that represented rivers or streams.  It would have been better had he the time or familiarity with the area to lay some traps.

Once he was within full sight of the tower, Malik tucked the map away and drew his dark cowl over his eyes.  It did not look particularly fortified, though there _was_ a light in the highest of the two squat towers.  About to make a sarcastic comment to Federico about potentially wasting his time, Malik nudged his horse forward – and something heavy landed on his back.

Instantly, Malik rolled even as he fell from his horse, turning to jab the elbow of his free hand backwards and upwards.  He could sense Federico waiting, uncertain, and he snarled, “Go!” even as the hidden blade flicked out and sliced the made vampire’s arm open to the elbow.

The vampire snarled, floundering and hissing, trying to change shape; talons raked over Malik’s ribs, tearing easily through his robes and making him growl in pain even as he scrambled out of reach.  The vampire was untrained, Malik realized, with relief; it reacted on instincts, lunging again, its movements predictable.  It was dressed in a hooded grey cloak, plain breeches and tunic.  A junior one, perhaps, a sired servant.  Malik dodged another lunge, grabbing the vampire by its elbow and following through in a throw that had it landing sharply on its back.

The vampire rolled to its feet, blocking the hidden blade that snaked for its throat, and weaving away from a slice.  Not entirely untrained, Malik corrected, as it retaliated with a measured punch, then a feint.  But still not fighting as a vampire should against a human – via using its overwhelming advantage on speed and strength. 

It aimed a jab at Malik’s face that he ducked, even as fingers sheared back his cowl.  Twisting away, ready to draw his blade, Malik frowned instead as the vampire gasped and stepped back hastily.

“Malik?”

That _voice_ … “ _Kadar?”_

Kadar drew back his own cowl, slowly.  His blue eyes were yellow now, his expression haggard, and his lips distended a little by fangs.  Against his neck were bite scars – _several_ bite scars.  “So Allah has answered my prayers.”

“Who turned you?” Malik’s fist curled so tightly that his knuckles whitened.  “I thought you were _dead_.”

“Robert de Sable turned me and Altaïr.” Kadar smiled humorlessly.  “Altaïr too thinks me dead, I think – Robert said so.”

“Then, Robert is in Italia."

“Yes.”

“I’ll kill him.  I swear.  I will avenge you.”

“I know.” Kadar knelt down.  “Make it quick.  Please.  End this.  This endless hunger.”

“Kadar…” Malik drew his blade, but his hand was shaking, noticeably.  “I…”

“You are the great hunter, brother.” Kadar said gently, reaching forward and placing the flat of the blade against his neck.  “And I cannot be free of Robert.  Not without somehow managing to drink his blood, not without his death.  He is not paying attention now, but once he does, I _will_ try to kill you.”

“I cannot kill you.  I _cannot_.” Malik’s eyes stung even as he lowered his blade.  “I will get Robert’s blood, or kill him.  So wait for me.”

“I do not want to live.  Not like this.” Kadar watched him steadily, as he rose slowly to his feet.  “I never was of much help to you.  But I will wait, since you ask it of me.”

“And Altaïr, where is Altaïr?” An old fury was curling within him, cold and ugly.

“I do not know.  Robert never mentions him now.” Impulsively, Kadar reached forward and squeezed his hand.  “You look well, brother.  I am glad.  Before, you always seemed so lonely.  Even when I was there.”

“What will you do now?”

“Wander, until Robert recalls me.” Kadar stepped back again, his smile sad.  “It was good to see you.”

“Kadar,” Malik began, but Kadar was now a hawk, that rose with a leap and a flap of its wings into the sky, becoming a dark speck that blurred until Malik angrily wiped at his eyes and squared his shoulders, trudging towards the church tower.


	5. Chapter 5

I

 

Desmond abruptly stopped jogging, frowning and glancing backwards.  “Wait.  They’ve moved.”

Shaun glanced sharply at Altaïr, who shrugged.  Irritated, the hunter glared at the fledgling.  “Moved?”

“Yeah.  Back that way.” Desmond began to backtrack, though he paused when Shaun gripped his elbow tightly, curling his nails into the wool.

“You had _better_ not be fucking with me, kid.”

Desmond stared at him evenly until Shaun let go of his arm, then he began to trot back down the river, towards the Ponte Vecchio.  Shaun kept an irritable silence alongside Altaïr until the roads became a little more familiar, the stately edifice of the Medici palazzo slowly becoming more apparent over the slate rooftops.  Desmond abruptly paused beside an alley, bouncing briefly on the balls of his feet, as though sniffing at the air, and then began to turn into it.  Quickly, Shaun caught his shoulder.

“You walk down there, you’re going to be riddled full of silver.  Stay here.  I’ll go first.”

The alley leading to the headquarters of the Medici hunters was sectioned into multiple buildings, each disconnected physically so as to require multiple invites if compromised.  Only one building, a warehouse at the very end, was a ‘free zone’, and to this Shaun walked, hands held up.  The alley had no doors and only overlooking slit-shaped narrow windows up until the warehouse, where there would be guards watching from a fortified, double-barred entryway of stone and timber. 

Rebecca was perched on top of the entryway, her hands on a crossbow in her lap.  “Shaun.  More fanged friends, I see.  Are we having some sort of cross-species party?”

“What do you mean more?” Shaun asked, looking quickly around him for any sign of recent attack, then a thought occurred to him.  Perhaps that fledgling was _right_.  “The _Duce_ is here?”

“Yeah.  Rode in a short while ago.” Rebecca grinned.  “Did you know that truebloods can turn into horses? Big, black horses.”

The _Duce_ was a crazy man.  “Fuck, no.  He didn’t.”

“Yup.”

On the bright side, at least the _Duce_ was _alive_.  Shaun shook his head slowly, huffing and leaning down to press his palms against his knees.  “Thank God.” His balls would be intact when Malik returned from Venezia.

“So, those two friends of yours?”

“One used to be Abstergo, says he knows Lucy.  The other one is his…” Shaun paused, searching for the correct word, “Associate.  The _Duce_ wanted to speak to them.”

“Hang on one sec.  Procedure, you know.”

“Sure.” Shaun waited as Rebecca gestured to someone behind the gate.  Footsteps retreated, even as he took the time to take a closer survey of his injuries.  Nothing looked serious, and most of the shallow wounds had closed, though they stung like hell and probably had to be cleaned.

Finally, Rebecca rapped her knuckles on the gate and balanced precariously to the side, onto the stone frame.  “All right.  Come on through.” Shaun waved Desmond and Altaïr over and through the gate, into a courtyard lined by watchful hunters armed with crossbows, then through another narrow door into a wide square room lit brightly with multiple lamps.  Guards and hunters muttered uneasily as the two made vampires passed, glancing between them and the two men already at a hastily set up round table with mismatched stools. 

Drinking fucking morning _tea._

The _Duce_ , dressed already in fresh clothes, arched an eyebrow at him when Shaun stalked up to the table, setting down his teacup.  “Ah, Hastings.”

Shaun stared carefully into Lorenzo’s eyes, searching for any hint of vampiric influence.  “Did he bite you?”

“We have an arrangement,” Lorenzo said amiably.  “Sit down.  Our guests, too.”

“What do you mean, an _arrangement?_ ” Shaun growled, as Desmond looked warily between them both.  Altaïr, however, sat down at the table, beside Giovanni, his shoulders tense. 

“Giovanni is suffering from a small problem that he assures me should be temporary,” Lorenzo said, velvet over steel.  “ _Sit down_ , Hastings.”

Giovanni smiled warmly at him once he did so, grudgingly.  “Please accept my apologies for our rather abrupt departure.  There were some matters that I needed to discuss with the _Duce_ in private.”

“The sort of matters that involve loss of blood?”

“Maybe,” Giovanni said, unperturbed.  “It will not happen again.”

“You mean the biting or the kidnapping?”

“ _Hastings_.” Lorenzo said mildly, if in clear warning.  “Giovanni will be here for a while, so please try to get along with him.  He _is_ one of our allies.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to invite him into the _palazzo_ , _Altezza_.”

“Of course not,” Lorenzo said dryly, ignoring the way Giovanni glanced sharply at him. 

“But-”

“The Medici _palazzo_ has long been sanctuary and bastion, not only for myself but for others whom my name protects,” Lorenzo said, sipping his tea.  “Unfortunately, my responsibilities cannot permit a vampire’s entry.”

Giovanni looked visibly upset for a moment, before controlling his features.  “I cannot protect you if I am not beside you, _Altezza_.”

“My bodyguard is Hastings.  The Medici have other properties in Firenze.  I can arrange one of them for your use.”

“Your bodyguard was not so effective-”

“ _I’ll show you ineffective_ , you bloody _wanker_ -”

“ _Hold_.” Lorenzo’s voice could switch from an amiable baritone to an icy whip within an instant.  Shaun subsided reluctantly, while Giovanni sat back.

“ _Va bene_ ,” Giovanni muttered, after a lengthy, awkward pause, his long, pale fingers twitching over his cup.

“Now the main course of business,” Lorenzo said crisply.  “You took some time to return, Hastings.”

“Desmond Miles said he could sniff out Giovanni.  So far I haven’t had much doubt that he can do it.”

“Truly? How curious.” Lorenzo glanced at Desmond, who still seemed a little shell-shocked to be in the presence of a trueblood, still staring across the table at Giovanni.  The trueblood bared his teeth, clearly in a poor mood, and Desmond flinched, his spine snapping straight.

“Uh… uh… well… I can just sense them,” Desmond said, nervously.  “After I was turned.  Abstergo is making vampires.  Special vampires.”

Shaun exchanged a glance with Lorenzo.  “Special vampires?”

“They are trying to ‘improve the species’.  They bring in humans and make us drink things to see what happens.  Cut us up.  Hell, I saw some guy get shocked by lightning.  Then they turn us.” Desmond stared at Shaun.  “Lucy was there.  For a while.”

“She was, but I recalled her when her cover was becoming difficult to maintain.” Lorenzo said coolly.  “She was not there long enough to ascertain much about the complex.  Her report was that it was a vampiric fancy, that there had been no concrete results.”

“Well,” Desmond shrugged, “I don’t know if you count being able to sniff out other vampires a concrete result, but I guess most of the guys who got turned either died permanently on the spot or went crazy.  What happened to me was a fluke, and they probably got bored of me once they finished testing.  They were looking for something else, some other combination.”

“What is your range?” Altaïr said suddenly.  “And can you find one by name?”

“Sorry,” Desmond said helplessly, “I need to see the vampire first.  Then, if I concentrate, he appears as a yellow mark in the distance.  The world becomes dark, and I can see him.”

“Your sire just let you loose in Italia?” Altaïr frowned. 

“Yeah, he was here to meet some people called Barbarigo, Borgia and Pazzi, and wanted a little fun on the side.” Desmond shrugged, seemingly oblivious to how Giovanni tensed and Lorenzo frowned.  “Getting rid of the flaked experiments, maybe.”

Altaïr rubbed absently at the scar on his lip.  “Did you drink his blood?”

“Hell no,” Desmond looked disgusted.  “Why would I want to do that?” 

“If you have not drunk his blood, and if he is not dead, then at any time, your sire can compel you to return.  To obey him, if he is close enough.” Lorenzo said quietly.

“I wanted to kill him anyway,” Desmond said flatly, though he looked instantly unnerved. 

“You bloody idiot, you won’t be _able_ to.” Hastings glared at Altaïr.  “What about you?”

“Drank his blood.  I was lucky.” Altaïr said shortly, the curtness in his tone indicating that it would be a tender subject.  “Is Malik al-Sayf in residence? I wish to speak with him.”

“Might be a bad idea, vampire.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Altaïr said coldly.  “We have some mutual history.”

“Malik is away on a mission,” Lorenzo cut in smoothly.  “Perhaps later.  In the meantime, you are both… guests.  I am grateful for your intervention at the bridge.  _Signore_ Miles, we will notify Lucy of your presence.”

“I am not here as a tourist,” Altair said irritably.  “I am here to find and kill my sire, Robert de Sable.”

“Robert is in Italia?” Giovanni said, sounding surprised.  “I was not aware that he had any interest in Italia.  His domain lies far further south.”

“There must be some reason why so many truebloods are working together, here,” Lorenzo said, frowning.  “ _Signore_ Miles.  Your sire must be Doctor Vidic.”

“Yeah.  Vidic.  I know where he is.  I can sense that much.  Listen, I want to help.”

“You’re useless until you can get free of the compulsion… if even then,” Shaun retorted derisively.  “I say we clap you in silver chains and wait for Lucy to come back and decide what to do with you.”

“If you can kill Vidic for me, or get some of his blood, sure.” Desmond didn’t back down.

“ _Signore_ Miles is a guest, Hastings,” Lorenzo said reproachfully.

“He’s a bloody time bomb, that’s what he is.”

“I’ll watch him,” Altaïr offered, abruptly.  “He will be useful.”

“Sure, if you want to trust a blooming viper to watch a viper-”

“ _Hastings_.” Lorenzo drained his tea.  “I do not like this possible alliance between the trueblood _famigli_.  Barbarigo, Pazzi and Borgia… and it seems de Sable and the Abstergo cartel.  They must have found something in Italia.”

“I will make my own enquiries as well.” Giovanni’s expression was grave.  “As well as send word to the other _famigli_.”

“They will assist us?” Lorenzo asked, skeptical.

“No, _Altezza_.  But they may take measures of their own.  We vampires are highly territorial – as you are aware.  Or at the very least, they will stay out of our way.”

 

II

 

“You _are_ sure that this is temporary,” Lorenzo said, when he had finally persuaded Hastings, at long length, to leave the chamber. 

The cellar under the Hunters’ headquarters had been cleared out and furnished sparsely with a bed, a desk and chair and a lamp.  Giovanni had requested for someplace underground, and had watched the cleaning up proceedings with an air of ironic amusement.  One of the sires of one of the oldest vampire _famigli_ in Italia, now relegated to living in a cellar like a servant.

“I am not _certain_ ,” Giovanni corrected, evidently trying his best not to eye Lorenzo’s neck and failing, “But I _think_ that it is temporary.”

Lorenzo made a mental note to consult Leonardo via encryption.  “You have family in Monteriggioni.  Just come back to Firenze whenever… when you need to.”

“Until this is resolved, I think it is better that I do not,” Giovanni said delicately.  “The… condition is upsetting my brother, and my son, Ezio.”

“And your wife?”

“Maria is very understanding,” Giovanni shrugged.  “Vampires choose their mates differently from humans.  For us, often, there is not so much the emotion that humans would term _amor_.  When one lives as long as a vampire, one tends to look for other qualities.”

“Like great patience.”

Giovanni inclined his head, his smile ironic again.  “ _Forse_.  I do love my wife, _Altezza_ , and I would like to believe that she returns the emotion, but it is not the same as what a human would comprehend.”

“I see,” Lorenzo said, if skeptically.  “I will arrange for some furnishings.”

“There is no need.”

“You are an ally and you should be comfortable – as befits an ally of the Medici,” Lorenzo disagreed.  If anything, it should cement Giovanni’s position as such among the Hunters, and hopefully prevent any tragic ‘accidents’. 

Giovanni stared at Lorenzo thoughtfully, his arms folded, until Lorenzo frowned.  “What? Are you still hungry?”

“I have to watch how much I take from you,” Giovanni said evasively, and added, before Lorenzo could comment, “You are a curious human, _Altezza_.  My brother and my son thought this a trap, that you had somehow arranged for this… problem to occur, and that the inevitable summons to Firenze was to orchestrate the servitude of the Auditore _famiglia_.  Leonardo and his lovely companion will be safe,” Giovanni continued, as Lorenzo’s expression darkened.  “You had my word.”

“I _certainly_ was not aware that this would occur.”

“I believe you.  My brother is a little older than I, and not so forgiving of human nature.” Giovanni tapped a finger over his left eye.  “Once when we were very young, hunters nearly took our lives.  It was a clever trap.  He lost an eye, and we learned not to underestimate humans – or the value of loyal human bondsmen.”

“I have confidence in Leonardo’s ability to change his mind.” Lorenzo had received an encrypted message from Monteriggioni already, while awaiting Hasting’s return, and it had been encouraging.  “And perhaps your son’s.”

“I am not so concerned about Ezio,” Giovanni said, amused.  “He has a great sense of appreciation for beauty in any form.”

“Good,” Lorenzo decided, even as there was a polite knock on the door and one of the hunters poked his head briefly into the room.

“Another message for you, _Altezza_.”

“Perhaps we should speak again later,” Lorenzo told Giovanni, frowning when the pureblood moved to follow him.  “Giovanni.”

“Tonight should have proved to you that you need watching, _Duce_.”

“You are staying where you are, until the hunters get used to your presence and are willing to work together with you,” Lorenzo retorted.  “Not to mention that public presence and the Medici alliances…” his voice trailed off when Giovanni blinked rapidly.  “Is something the matter?”

“I cannot move,” Giovanni said helplessly, then he scowled when the Duke of Firenze only stared blankly at him.  “ _Duce!_ ”

Lorenzo rubbed at the bridge of his nose, pinching it as though to forestall an oncoming headache.  “Giovanni, do you remember what you said to me in the cellar? Before you drank from me?”

“No.” Giovanni’s awkward twisting as he attempted to move his feet, Lorenzo had to admit, was a _little_ amusing.  Even with the writhing shadows under the lamps, which showed an increasingly fragile grip on the old vampire’s temper.  “Vaguely.  Why?”

“I want… I would _like_ you to assist my hunters in clearing the Pazzi husks from Firenze.  Hide somewhere before dawn, of course.” Lorenzo carefully swallowed his chuckle as Giovanni abruptly stumbled forward, arms flailing, so far from his usual, studied dignity.

He would _definitely_ have to speak to Leonardo.

Giovanni took a moment to right his composure before turning on the Duke with an angry snarl.  “How did you do that? What _was_ that? It was something I said to you in the cellar?”

“I will need to discuss it with Leonardo once I am able-” Lorenzo flinched as Giovanni _growled_ , in the deep, angry inhuman rumble that he recalled from the cellar, picking him up by his arms as though he weighed nothing and slamming him none too gently against the wall.

“Undo it!”

“How?”

“You did it, _you_ unmake it!” Giovanni half-turned to face the door, with a menacing hiss, as hunters all but tumbled through the doorway, fully armed.

Lorenzo took a deep breath, as crossbows loaded with angry clicks in the sudden silence.  “All of you.  Leave.  _Per favore_.  Now,” he added sharply, as his men looked doubtful.  “And close the door.”

“ _Altezza_ -”

“ _Now_ , Andre.  And keep Hastings occupied.”

Giovanni relaxed slightly as the door closed once again, though Lorenzo could tell from narrowed eyes and the seething shadows around them both that the trueblood had now only the barest of grasps on his fury.  Trying to work out a careful diplomatic solution on the spot, inspiration struck when, as though out of habit, Giovanni’s eyes flickered again to his neck.

Lorenzo brought his hands up carefully, with no sudden movements, until his fingers were wrapped around Giovanni’s cool wrists.  “Giovanni.  Whatever happened was not my intention.  _Capire_?”

Giovanni stared at him coldly for a long moment before his bruising grip eased.  “ _Bene._ But you must help me undo it.”

“I do not like the idea of having to be bitten on a regular basis, I assure you.” Lorenzo said dryly.

The attempt at wry humor, however, only made Giovanni bare his teeth, fangs lengthened.  “I swear if I ever find out that this was all your doing, human, I _will_ …”

Giovanni paused, as Lorenzo deliberately bit the pad of his own forefinger until he broke the skin, then he pushed his finger into Giovanni’s mouth.  As he had thought, Giovanni relaxed instantly with a muffled groan, a cool tongue rubbing eagerly after the drops of blood, the smooth edge of a fang rasping briefly over a joint of his finger.

When the wound closed, Giovanni pulled back reluctantly, feral eyes a little glazed.  Lorenzo filed this method of calming down the old vampire away, but he couldn’t help a smirk.  “Better?”

As though in answer, Giovanni leant forward, and even as Lorenzo flattened against the wall in shock, the vampire sucked briefly on the lingering traces of blood on Lorenzo’s lip, then kissed him as he opened his mouth to protest, the vampire _purring_ as he drew his tongue into his mouth.  Startled, Lorenzo tried to twist away, wincing as he cut the tip of his tongue against the edge of a fang, and abruptly, Giovanni was rubbing his entire frame against Lorenzo’s body, moaning eagerly as he lapped against the stinging wound, cool hands curled around the nape of his neck.

It was the most… _intense_ kiss of Lorenzo’s life, and he couldn’t help but shudder, gasping when Giovanni pulled back grudgingly to give him some air, his yelp of protest muffled as the vampire leant back down quickly to take another kiss, whining as Lorenzo pushed ineffectively at his shoulders.  He could feel Giovanni’s arousal stirring against his thigh, and for some insane reason this did not disturb him in the least.  Instead an answering thrill coursed through him, an answering sensual _pleasure_ as cool hands rubbed hungrily down his arms and over his hips. 

A form of pleasure that could thoroughly ruin the Medici.

“ _Basta_ ,” Lorenzo gasped, when Giovanni finally pulled back again.  “ _Basta!_ ”

The vampire blinked owlishly at him, then their compromising position and his current state seemed to dawn on him.  Looking somewhat embarrassed, Giovanni hastily pulled away, arranging his own clothes.  “ _Altezza_ , I, ah-”

“ _How_ much blood do you actually need in a day?”


	6. Chapter 6

I

 

“I’m here now and everything will be all right,” Rebecca announced brightly as one of the Auditore bondsmen ushered her into Leonardo’s workshop.  Leonardo rose from where he had been fussing over Lucy’s cast, embracing Rebecca tightly and kissing her on both cheeks.  Critically, Rebecca looked Lucy over – Malik’s trusted lieutenant smiled, pale with pain but clearly stable.  “Feeling better, Lucy?”

“It was a clean break.  Leonardo said it’d heal perfectly.” Lucy said dismissively.  “More importantly, now that you’re here, you can dissuade him from going out with the search party.”

“What search party?”

“Ezio Auditore is still missing, and Lucy has refused to allow me to go out to look at the scene of his disappearance.” Leonardo said, his expression long-suffering.  “It is daytime, there are hours more of sun to go, and I will be safe with the _condottieri_.  Maria and Claudia are very upset, and I told them that I would help.”

Rebecca exchanged glances with Lucy, who shrugged and rolled her eyes.  Leonardo had always been _far_ too friendly for his own good.  Rebecca didn’t hate vampires like Lucy did – _her_ family was still alive and well, she only entered the Medici’s payroll because the money was good and because Lucy was her friend.  Still, she knew enough of them to be wary, particularly of the truebloods, and would never have considered being on first name basis with the creatures.  “Oh-kay… even if there was _something_ we could find-”

“There would be.  We have already wasted four days.  There may not be much evidence left to investigate.” Leonardo circled back to his desk, upon which was a detailed map of Monteriggioni and its surrounding townships.  “No, Lucy, I have made up my mind.  I have agreed to wait for Rebecca because you insisted.  Despite Piero already being available in your stead.  Now she is here.”

“Rebecca may be tired from her journey,” Lucy suggested quickly.

“Oh come on, Lucy.  Is that place far from here?”

“Not far.” Leonardo said, though he looked concerned.  “But if you are weary, of course you should rest up first.”

“If it isn’t far, then we should just have a quick look, and then come back before the sun sets.  You know he’ll pester the hell out of us otherwise,” Rebecca grinned, as Lucy glowered at her.  She hadn’t been out of Firenze for at least two years since entering Lorenzo’s service, and extending her little jaunt around the gorgeous countryside in the beautiful sunny weather felt like fun.  Besides, Leonardo smiled so brightly when he was pleased; he was _adorable_.  It was such a pity that he showed no interest in any man or woman.  “Come on, Leonardo.  Let’s go talk to that cute guard captain at the gate.”

“Just be safe,” Lucy seemed to be weighing her options, then she sighed in resignation and settled back on the cot where she lay.  “Don’t take any risks.  If you find anything, just let the _condottieri_ do what they’re paid to do.  Don’t get involved any more than we are.  We’re not here to help out the Auditore, we’re here for Leonardo.”

“I know what I’m doing, Lucy, don’t worry.” Rebecca patted the wicked little crossbow at her belt meaningfully. 

“That’s what worries me.”

“Sourpuss.” Rebecca winked, and trotted out into the sunlight after Leonardo.  A search party had been forming up when she had ridden into the city, and now it was milling by the gates, waiting for the previous party to return.  Brightly liveried horses and guards armed with silver weapons were equally restless, staring out beyond the gate for the telltale approaching cloud of dust that would signal the return of the previous patrol.  The assigned captain of the party, Stefano, made no comment as Leonardo and Rebecca mounted horses at the stables and joined their ranks. 

“Where are we headed?” Leonardo asked, as he reined his horse up alongside Stefano’s.

“We are assigned to search the eastern holdings.”

“Then that grove of trees where we found the hanged man must be in our path.  Let me take a look at it.”

Stefano stared thoughtfully at Leonardo, then at Rebecca, who rolled her shoulders in a quick shrug behind the engineer’s back.  “Very well, but you must be quick.  We have orders to return before sunset.”

“You fear reprisals still?” Leonardo asked, concerned.

“The parties that venture out after sunset will each contain a member of the Auditore family.” Stefano nodded.  “ _Messer_ Mario is of the opinion that it would be safer.  Also, should you be our guest on _this_ particular search, then we must return before the sunset.”

At least the Auditore took good care of their cattle.  Rebecca rubbed the flat of her palm absently against the haft of her crossbow for reassurance, glancing around at the anxious-looking peasantry and denizens of Monteriggioni.  Several of them cast Leonardo and herself uncomfortable glances, and even the guardsmen seemed nervous.  Evidently, many of them shared Lucy’s concerns – out of Monteriggioni, Leonardo would be bait, and the men around him might share brutal fates.

It didn’t take long to reach the grove of trees.  The hanged man had been cut down and long buried, but the rope remained, drifting in the cool breeze.  Leonardo eyed it critically, then dismounted, circling the area, while the _condottieri_ muttered uneasily between themselves and scanned their surroundings, wary of any threat.

“Leonardo, what are we looking for?” Rebecca asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Something caused Ezio to speed away immediately, on the spot.  There had to be something that he observed.” Leonardo picked up a stick from the ground, prodding at the bushes.  “Something that his night vision might have picked up that Lucy and I missed.  The dead man, Stefano, tell me about him.”

“His, ah, his name was Ricco,” Stefano said uncomfortably, “He had a wife and two children-”

“No, not that,” Leonardo interrupted, now looking up thoughtfully at the barks of the trees.  “What was he meant to be doing on that night? Where was he stationed?”

“At the guardpost on the town of Conti, just south of Monteriggioni.  We have already searched the guardpost and found nothing.”

“Tell me, is there an abandoned church in Conti?”

“Yes, but it’s long been boarded up.  Why?”

“That,” Leonardo pointed at the rope, “Is from a church.  A bell rope, to be exact, but old enough that it is fraying, nearly rotted.  The plaiting, particularly at the end looped around the branch, that much is obvious.  Ezio must have noticed this.  I should have come earlier!” The engineer muttered to himself, wringing his hands.  “It will be an hour’s ride to Conti.  Let us move quickly.”

“We are meant to patrol-” One of the guards began, but Stefano shook his head quickly, his expression grim.

“No, our guest is right.  If there is something in Conti, we must take a look.”

 

II

 

Malik had left Federico to his own devices once he had satisfied himself that Emilio Barbarigo was no more.  Even if the rampant destruction in Emilio’s chambers wasn’t ample clue, or the suspicious, gritty dust on the carpet, Federico’s supremely self-satisfied smirk was evidence enough, and Malik bore about five minutes of Federico's self-congratulation before having to still the urge to go for the nearest weapon.  Besides, Kadar seemed to have left the area, and Malik had just received an urgent missive by pigeon from Firenze.  It had been a long, hard ride back into the city, spent seething over the past.

It had been Altaïr’s doing.  Disobeying commands and common sense, Altaïr had rushed into the vault near Jerusalem after Robert de Sable, intent on making a name for himself by killing the notorious vampire.  Kadar had run in after Altaïr, concerned over the ingrate, and helplessly, Malik had followed.  The battle had been a disaster; as a trueblood, Robert was more than a match for all three of them, and in the end, Malik had only lived because Robert had torn off his arm at the elbow, thrown him out of the vault, and left him to bleed to death. 

It was only through the quick intervention of a passing good Samaritan on the trade route beside the vault that he had survived, then the swift actions of the Jerusalem Bureau’s _rafik_ meant that he had woken up in Masyaf, delirious with fever.  By then, Al Mualim had told him the terrible news – their brothers had searched the temple, only to find mere bloodstains.  Kadar and Altaïr were presumed dead ever since.

Malik had worn black ever since, to mourn his brother, to remind himself of what he had lost.

It was dark when Malik finally drew rein within sight of Firenze, his horse breathing hard and snorting from weariness.  Malik left it at the gates and hurried towards the Medici Hunters’ safehouse-headquarters, ignoring hunters who greeted him as he passed them, his teeth gritted so hard that they hurt.

In a way, he was glad that the first person he saw in the enclosed courtyard was Altaïr.  It saved having to explain himself to Lorenzo.  The vampire was arguing with another, younger fledgling vampire, who looked sheepish, hands upraised in a gesture of wry surrender.  Altaïr glanced up sharply when he approached, sidestepped the downswing of his silver blade, then blocked the follow through with his bracer.

A _Masyaf_ bracer.  Malik saw red.

Dimly, he was aware that Altaïr was shouting at him, shouting his name, and the young vampire was waving frantically from the sidelines.  Altaïr was stronger now, faster, but he wasn’t making an effort to fight back, only dodging and weaving, trying to talk.  Good.  If he didn’t fight, then he could die more quickly-

“Malik.  _Malik!_ ” Lorenzo’s sharp command snapped through the red fog over his mind.  “Stop!”

Malik ignored him.  The Duce would be safer if there were fewer vampires around, anyway.  Snarling, he feinted and darted forward, scoring a deep gash along Altaïr’s bicep.  As Altaïr winced and stumbled back, Malik raised his blade, ready to strike, only to land heavily on his back as the young vampire jumped on him.  Instinctively, he dropped his blade and slammed his palm up against the vampire’s chest, and the young vampire screamed and rolled as silver rammed up into its chest.  The angle had been wrong – the blade _just_ missed the vampire’s heart.  Malik would have to cut his head off to finish him.

However, as he tried to roll onto his feet, groping for his blade, shadows curled tight around him, pinning him to the ground.  Swearing and cursing, Malik struggled, looking around wildly, then ground his teeth in frustration as he saw the trueblood standing protectively beside Lorenzo.

“Giovanni will let you go when you’ve calmed down.” Lorenzo said soothingly.  “Malik, you are among friends.”

“Hardly,” Malik spat, with a glare at Altaïr, who was inspecting the gash.  “Why is _he_ here?”

“Altaïr and Miles saved my life, Malik.  We offered them temporary lodgings.  At present, we have a common goal.”

“I have no common goal with the man who caused my brother to be turned into a vampire,” Malik snarled.  “Did you know that, Altaïr! Kadar is a _vampire!_ Turned by Robert de Sable! Because of _you!_ Allah help me,” he whispered, as the white hot rage burned away into the dregs of bitter exhaustion.  “He asked me to kill him.”

Altaïr, rather surprisingly, looked pained, unable to meet his eyes, staring down at his own hands, instead.  “I know that Kadar is a vampire.  I did not know he was here, but I suppose it was logical.”

“ _Logical?_ ”

“Robert de Sable is here,” Altaïr said steadily.  “I am hunting him.”

“You have drunk his blood.”

“I have.  He cut himself on a razor while shaving and did not notice.  It was a little, but enough.”

“ _Why_ did you not free Kadar as well?”

“I could not!” Altaïr snapped, his gaze snapping up.  “I tried! I searched de Sable’s tower for your brother but I could not find him! The Templars starved me often, and I would have been too weak to face Robert de Sable upon his return.  I stayed as long as I dared, and then I had to leave! And then afterwards, when I was stronger, I went back, but they were gone.  That was when I learned that Robert had left for Italia.  So I followed, to try and kill him.  That would free Kadar.”

“You would have me believe that you would do that for Kadar,” Malik sneered, “When _you_ were the one who caused him to be turned, caused me to lose my arm.”

“I was a long time in Robert de Sable’s _loving_ custody, Malik.  A long time to regret many things.” Altaïr said flatly.  “I do not expect you to believe me.  I only want to make things _right_.  When Robert de Sable is dead, you can take what vengeance you want from my hide, but I can assure you that I have long been punished for my conceit.”

Malik stared hard at Altaïr for a long moment, then he sighed out aloud.  “ _Altezza_ , let me go.”

Lorenzo shot him an appraising look, evidently troubled, but nodded, and the shadows receded.  Malik got to his feet, rubbed his wrist, sheathed his blade, and turned to enter the building, shaking off Hasting’s hand on his shoulder.  Impotent rage was burning into an all too familiar grief, and he wanted to be alone.

 

III

 

The door to the old church splintered and shattered only after all the _condottieri_ , Leonardo and Rebecca had bent their shoulders to the makeshift battering ram – a heavy old steel garden post located in the overgrown graveyard.  The reason behind the resilience of the door only became apparent once they entered the church – benches and even the pew had been dragged up against the door, the fresh tracks left on the dust still clear. 

Rebecca glanced up to the belfry – the rope had been torn off, and the gaping hole in part of the bell tower suggested easy access for creatures that could turn into swarms of bats.

A sharp cry from Stefano snapped her attention back downwards, and she hurried to his side.  The captain of the patrol was kneeling by a coffin behind the altar, which was bound shut by heavy chains.  A dull, weak thump could be heard, against the coffin lid.

“He’s still around, at least,” Rebecca said dryly.  “No, stop with the barbarism,” she added, rummaging through the pouches at her belt for the velvet sheath of lockpicks as Stefano drew his sword, no doubt to hack uselessly at the chains.  “I’m pretty sure I can pick the lock.”

Five minutes later, the antique lock clicked open, and Stefano and Leonardo dragged the chains off the coffin.  Rebecca managed a cheerful “There,” just before the coffin exploded upwards in a boiling swarm of bats and splintering wood.  “Holy _shit_!”

Stefano staggered back, with an audible gasp, and the cloud of bats abruptly swung back downwards, swallowing him, ignoring the flailing arms and the scream that bubbled into a choked gargle, then nothing.

“It’s been four days,” Leonardo said, almost clinically, his eyes wide.  “And he hadn’t eaten for a day before that.”

“We’re leaving!” Rebecca scrambled to her feet, grabbing Leonardo by his elbow.  If they could make it outside, they would be safe – there were a few more hours to nightfall.  The other _condottieri_ had reached the same conclusion as she – beckoning urgently to her even as they held their ground, silver weapons upraised.

“We’ll slow him down,” one of the guards said sharply, “Get Leonardo out!”

The bats coalesced into Ezio, crouched by Stefano’s body, his mouth bloody and his orange pupils large and dilated.  He roared, an unholy, wolflike sound of berserk fury and hunger, and shadows shot upwards from the ground and the corners of the room, holding everyone fast.

Instinctively, Rebecca activated the hidden silver blade at her wrist, and Ezio shuddered and snarled as she cut herself swiftly free, then Leonardo.  Before she could shove him in the direction of the door, however, Ezio had landed on top of her, snapping her jaw to the side to bare her throat and pinning her elbows and upper arms to the ground with shadows.

“Rebecca!” Leonardo was stronger than he looked; his weight and momentum slammed Ezio off her.  Instantly, Rebecca was rolling to get on her feet, but Ezio was faster, crouching and pouncing again in one fluid movement.  Leonardo brought his arms up, and cried out instead as Ezio’s mouth fastened onto the back of his left wrist, their combined weight slamming Leonardo back against a dusty wall and knocking him dazed.

Rebecca let out a shout of outrage, lunging forward, only to miss and collide awkwardly with Leonardo as Ezio abruptly jerked away, coughing and gasping, clutching at his head and falling onto his knees.  Rebecca checked Leonardo’s eyes quickly for catatonia, but the engineer batted her hands aside and took a shaky step away from the wall.

“Ezio?” Leonardo ventured, as the shadows holding the _condottieri_ receded.

“You,” Ezio said harshly, and then he gulped and rubbed his eyes, rising to his feet.  “I looked into your mind.  You _let_ me.  There was so _much_.  How do you hold so much within your head?”

Leonardo smiled brightly, as though his wrist wasn’t bloody with the bite of a vampire that had just tried to kill all of them.  “It seemed like a logical response in the circumstances.”

“He’s not normal,” Ezio addressed Rebecca, so seriously that she had to swallow a burp of hysterical laughter, glancing behind the vampire to the man he had inadvertently killed.  Ezio followed her stare, then he froze, as though in horror.  “No.  No, no, no.”

“You were not yourself,” Leonardo allowed Rebecca to bind his wrist the best that she could with a strip of cloth torn from the bottom of her blouse.  It’d have to be cleaned up later; she didn’t have any salve on her, or disinfectant.

“You do not know our laws,” Ezio said quietly, as he knelt down by the dead man’s side and closed blank, staring eyes.  “There are three more hours to daylight.  Ricci and Carlo, return to Monteriggioni.  Tell my uncle what I have done.  Make no excuses on my behalf.”

“Milord,” One of the selected guards began, uncertainly.  “ _Messer_ Leonardo is correct.  You were not yourself.”

“Go!” Ezio barked, and the two guards milled around, then backed hastily out of the church when the vampire bared his teeth.  “The rest of you, stand guard outside.  I need to speak to Leonardo.” At Rebecca’s expression, Ezio’s lip curled.  “I am myself now, do not fear.”

Rebecca decided not to voice an opinion as the _condottieri_ filed out.  Besides, seeing what had just transpired, should Ezio _truly_ intend to kill them both, they wouldn’t get very far.  And from how Leonardo was excitedly walking around the altar, checking for clues, he probably couldn’t be persuaded to leave at this point.

“Silver lined,” Leonardo was inspecting the coffin.  “Clever.  And planned.  Whoever you chased here-”

“Jacopo de Pazzi.”

“-was waiting.  A two-pronged scheme.  You become trapped here, leaving Francesco free to attack me.” Leonardo said, seemingly not noticing how Ezio’s gaze snapped up at him at the mention of Francesco’s name.

“ _Mi dispiace_ , I should not have abandoned you.”

“Your uncle saved me.” Leonardo said dismissively, as though being hunted down by trueblood vampires was a trivial occurrence. 

“How did you get dumped in the coffin?” Rebecca asked, curious.  Jacopo was older than Ezio, but Ezio was an Auditore – surely a son of Giovanni would have been able to hold his own against another trueblood.

“It was a trap,” Ezio said, looking a little shamefaced.  “When I followed Jacopo into the church, I tripped something and was drenched in silver dust.  Some went into my eyes and mouth.  When I lost concentration for a moment, Jacopo locked me in the coffin.”

“Why didn’t he just kill you outright?” Rebecca wondered out aloud.

“He may already have,” Ezio said grimly.  “The penalty for an Auditore who murders a bondsman is death.”


	7. Chapter 7

I

 

“The message was from my wife.” Giovanni was more agitated than Lorenzo had ever seen him, even during the incident in the cellar.  “I must return to Monteriggioni.”

“Why?” Malik demanded, even as Lorenzo frowned.  A message via carrier pigeon had arrived, seemingly blank save for the crest of the Auditore on one side, and upon delivering it to Giovanni, the vampire had become visibly troubled.

“My son Ezio seems to have done something foolish.” When Malik narrowed his eyes in suspicion, Giovanni added, irritably, “Your friends are safe.  It is something else.”

“Something else? What did he do?” Lorenzo asked, concerned now over Leonardo.  Ezio had been assigned to guard the diplomat, and by all reports had gone missing for four days.  Giovanni had appeared unconcerned about this – apparently, it was fairly normal for Ezio to go missing for days or weeks upon end and then return to the Auditore estates.  “Tell me, Giovanni."

Giovanni grit his teeth, his hands clenching into fists, his features going tight as though in agony.  “ _Altezza_ , stop…! Unsay it… this is family business… none of your concern…”

Malik blinked rapidly and took a step back, his hand going to the hilt of his blade, startled at the vampire’s behavior, but Lorenzo merely folded his arms tightly over his chest.  “Leonardo is in Monteriggioni, Giovanni.  I think I need at least a brief explanation.”

The trueblood let out a loud, harsh gasp, actually staggering back against the wall, snarling low in his throat as he fought the compulsion, and after a few heartbeats, Lorenzo relented.  “Very well.  If you are certain that it does not concern Leonardo, then you do not need to tell me.  Perhaps you should return.  We have no need for you at present.”

Giovanni relaxed, shuddering, though his eyes were hard with suppressed anger.  A proud old vampire, this one, Lorenzo knew – what he was doing was probably far too risky in the long run.  He had to balance Giovanni’s pride with the temptation to use his newfound influence.

“What just happened?” Malik asked coldly, glancing between Giovanni and Lorenzo.

“I will explain it to you afterwards.” Lorenzo returned, holding Malik’s challenging stare until the hunter glanced away, his lip curled.  “Giovanni, _mi dispiace_.  I am concerned about Leonardo.”

“Leonardo is safe.” Giovanni repeated.  The old vampire seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he sighed out aloud.  “I suppose there is no harm in telling you everything, _Altezza_.  The message was brief.  ‘Return to Monteriggioni.  Ezio has killed Stefano.  The outsiders are safe’.”

Lorenzo and Malik exchanged puzzled glances.  “Who is Stefano?” Malik asked.

“He was a bondsman,” Giovanni said grimly, “And if Ezio has killed him, then Ezio must pay for it with his life.” At Lorenzo’s startled intake of breath, the old vampire explained curtly, “It is our law.  The bondsmen give their lifeblood to us and protect us, war for us, die for us.  In return, none of the Auditore may take their lives, save out of mercy or in self-defense.  This was the first law of the first Auditore.”

“Surely there is something more to this,” Lorenzo said, thinking quickly.  “There must be some explanation.”

“The edict is absolute.” Giovanni glanced tensely up at the doorway, to the length of the shadows beyond it.  “I will return to Monteriggioni upon nightfall.  I hope it will not be to execute my son.”

“Law must always be flexible enough to allow for mitigation,” Lorenzo argued, moved by the drawn pain etched into Giovanni’s features.  Vampires _could_ love their offspring, it seemed, despite popular freehold opinion.  Malik, on the other hand, was silent, evidently uninterested in the rest of the proceedings now that it appeared that it did not concern Firenze security.  Another trueblood dead was probably a good result, in the one-armed hunter’s books.  “Perhaps I should come with you.”

“ _No_ ,” Giovanni and Malik snapped at the same time, then they glared at each other, with such comical timing that Lorenzo had to hide a grin.

“You are needed here,” Malik scowled.

“The road is too long to Monteriggioni, and I will travel faster alone.” Giovanni added.

“Besides, Leonardo is already there.”

“And my brother Mario will not take kindly to your presence.  He is easily provoked.”

“In any regard, it’s not like a pack of vampires is going to give a damn about your opinion, _Altezza_.”

“The damage has already been done.  You cannot reverse it.”

“ _Bene, va bene_ ,” Lorenzo held up his hands, palms up, swallowing his laughter.  “You have both convinced me to stay.  Giovanni, God’s speed.  I hope what you fear does not come to pass.”

“You will be safe by yourself now that your champion hound has returned, I hope.” Giovanni swung his steely stare at Malik, whose frown furrowed deeper.  Just in case, Lorenzo caught Malik’s arm quickly, and the hunter bit down on the rest of his words, drawing in a harsh breath to calm himself. 

“Malik, go and speak with Matteo.  I have correspondence to pass to Leonardo.  Bring it here.”

“But-”

“Now, _per favore_ , Malik.”

With a backward, threatening scowl at Giovanni, Malik grudgingly obeyed, inclining his head with ill temper and stalking out of the cellar.  Giovanni arched an eyebrow quizzically at Lorenzo.  “I will not be travelling in a form that will lend well to being a pack mule, _Altezza_.  Speed is now of the essence.”

“It was as good an excuse as any.” Lorenzo hesitated, uncomfortable, then steeled himself and rolled back his right sleeve.  “You may be gone for a few days, if the matter is so urgent.  Perhaps you should take some-”

“No, _Altezza_.  You are a little pale.” Giovanni said, so smoothly that it seemed practiced.  “But _grazie_ for the offer.”

“Very well,” Lorenzo said doubtfully. “I trust you will return in time.  We do not need any more… incidents.”

“I will.” Giovanni grasped Lorenzo’s right wrist carefully but firmly, ignored the ring as Lorenzo automatically presented it for a vassal’s kiss, and turned the pale underside up, instead, half-lidding his eyes and rubbing his cheek against the faint impression of the veins visible from under Lorenzo’s skin, breathing deep.  The unfamiliar intimacy was… disconcerting, but much to his personal surprise, Lorenzo did not pull away.

 

II

 

If Federico shared one trait with his father and brothers, it was curiosity.  The famous Malik al-Sayf had returned visibly pale and shaken from what should have been a fairly routine (for the hunter) encounter with a made vampire – the vampire had seemed young, by his movements, and should not have been much of a match for Malik.

Malik had ignored all his questions, surveyed the room, stepped in Emilio’s ashes, read a message that had arrived via pigeon, and then had left for Firenze without any further word, spurring his horse as though the devil was on his heels. Once Malik had disappeared, Federico had changed into an owl, and had perched, hidden under the highest cornice in Emilio’s tower, until he had seen the falcon circle past. 

So Malik had _not_ killed the made vampire.  And more curiously, they had left on what appeared to be fairly amicable grounds – both of them still had their lives, and Malik had not been visibly injured.

The falcon banked and headed west abruptly, within a few hours of sunrise, and Federico followed.  Besides, he reasoned, this was Gathering Intelligence, and neither his father nor his uncle had given him any further orders after ‘Assist Malik Al-Sayf and assassinate Emilio Barbarigo’.  

Federico grew wary as the falcon ventured further into Barbarigo territory, past filthy towns of vacant-eyed serfs and forbiddingly guarded villas, until he finally swept down into a monastery ringed by heavily armed guardsmen.  Humans, Federico noted, watching their movements, as he pretended to dive on a mouse, and then fluttered up for appropriate cover with the hapless creature in his claws.  A white surcoat painted with a red cross, plate and mail armor.  _Robert de Sable_.

Alighting on the crown of a nearby sycamore tree and discarding the corpse of the mouse delicately on another branch, Federico edged up an overhanging branch until he could peek into the compound.  The falcon had changed into a slim young man, olive-skinned and dark-haired, wiry and tall, like Malik.  As the youth turned around to regard someone approaching, Federico silently chuckled to himself.  The family resemblance was striking – yet where Malik seemed stern and forbidding, the falcon boy’s softer features and wide eyes made him seem almost _pretty_.  Vulnerable. 

Congratulating himself on the tidbit of information that he could soon provide to his uncle, Federico turned his owl’s head around to regard the sycamore.  A hollow in the bark a branch down looked like the perfect place to spend the day, and he had fed just before meeting Malik.  No one seemed to be aware of his presence. 

Distracted, Federico nearly fell out of the tree when a heavy blow rang out from the monastery.  Looking back quickly, he hastily shuffled back behind a thicker mass of sycamore leaves.  Robert de Sable stood in the compound, flexing his mailed fist, while the boy picked himself up from the ground, eyes downcast.  The boy’s sire, then.

The owl’s sense of hearing coupled with a vampire’s sharper senses meant that Federico could _just_ about pick out the words over the breeze and the tramp of the armored patrol beneath the tree.

“You were told to watch Emilio!”

“I did,” the boy retorted.

“He is _dead_.”

“You did not tell me to guard him, only to watch him.” Federico winced as another blow, heavier than the last, lifted the boy off his feet, sending him crashing against the steps leading up from the compound, cracking stone in an impact crater around him.  The boy bit down hard on his lip to stifle his cry of pain, struggling to his feet.

“There is something you are hiding.” Robert was standing over the boy in an instant, grabbing him by the cuff of his robes and hauling him aloft.  “Something that you are not telling me, Kadar.”

“I watched Emilio as you said,” the boy hung in Robert’s grasp, not even bothering to struggle.  “One of the Auditore fought him, and won.”

“The Auditore would not have gone alone.  Lorenzo would not trust them so far, not yet.” Robert shook Kadar roughly, and the boy gulped, then screamed and clawed in agony at Robert’s shoulders as the templar dragged him close and bit down on his neck.  Federico was gripping the branch so tightly that his claws ached.  He had heard that old vampires could reverse the pleasure of the bite, make it agony instead of the calming lassitude.  The Auditore were forbidden from turning humans into vampires or husks, but Federico knew about the bond between a sire and his offspring, and the sight of one causing the other pain through their primal link was fundamentally abhorrent, a betrayal of the most basic form of trust between their kind.

He could not intervene.  Not yet.  Robert had quite a reputation in battle; it was said that he was possibly even a match for Mario.  Still, it was hard to watch as Robert finally pulled back and tossed Kadar on the dirt, the young vampire shaking uncontrollably and moaning.

“You met your brother,” Robert sounded pleased; he had evidently used the act of drinking to read Kadar’s mind.  “Well, well.  Should I send you to take his life?”

Kadar, perhaps used to Robert’s treatment and baiting, didn’t answer, eyes closed, fighting to control the tremors.  Eventually, Robert kicked him in the stomach with his mailed boot, and stepped over him, wiping his mouth.  “No.  It would be a waste.  Before you even make it into Firenze, one of Lorenzo’s pet killers would have turned you into ash.  Go and drink your fill from our stores, then come to my chambers.” Robert’s smile, even from this distance, was unpleasant.  “Perhaps we should discuss the intricacies of disobeying my orders, before I send you out to spy on the Auditore.”

 

III

 

An hour into nightfall, and a familiar, large black wolf abruptly picked itself out of the shadows beyond the church door, shaking its dripping muzzle as it changed its form _upwards_ into the bulky frame of Mario Auditore.  The ring of _condottieri_ parted anxiously in his wake, even as a white kestrel dropped out of the sky, banked, and turned into Maria.  

Ezio rose from where he had been speaking quietly to Leonardo about Leonardo’s work with weaponry in a corner of the church on a righted bench, and Rebecca clenched her fist to keep from instinctively going for her daggers.  Stefano’s drained body lay on the altar, one of her silver blades pushed through his heart to prevent re-animation. 

“ _Messer_ Mario, _Madonna_ Maria,” Leonardo began, but Ezio cut him short by gripping his shoulder.

“No.  I did this.  Stay out of it, Leonardo.”

“So you do not deny it, _nipote_.” Mario looked weary, as though he had aged over the hours to sunset.  “You killed Stefano.”

“Yes.” Ezio bowed his head.

“This is not _fair_ ,” Leonardo said sharply.  “There were _circumstances_.  Jacopo de Pazzi trapped Ezio in this place, in a silver coffin.  A normal vampire goes berserk after four days of being unable to feed.  It has been _five_.”

“The Auditore are not normal vampires, Leonardo,” Mario said flatly.  “Giovanni and I have not fed for longer, before, and we would not even think of harming one of our own.  We have our rules.  Perhaps if it was Petruccio, there may be some leeway, but Ezio is old enough to know self-control.  _Besides_ ,” he added coldly, when Leonardo opened his mouth, “This would not have occurred had he done as he was ordered and stayed by your side.  Instead, you and _signorina_ Stillman were nearly murdered by Francesco, and now Stefano is dead.”

“I have and will offer no excuses.” Ezio said quietly.

Leonardo glanced behind Mario beseechingly, but Maria was still, pale and quiet.  She offered him a half-shake of her head, her eyes dark with grief.

“Your father is returning,” Mario told Ezio.  “Would you prefer this by his hand or mine?”

“Yours,” Ezio said firmly, instantly.  “If you ask father to do it, it will break his heart.”

Mario’s expression twisted briefly.  “ _Nipote_ -”

“Can I first apologize to Stefano’s family?”

“Stefano’s widow pleaded for your life.  She too, insisted that it was an accident.” Mario did not scowl, but his jaw was set.  “Should you see his family, they might try something foolish.  For four generations they have protected the Auditore, and their loyalty has not been shaken.”  

“Very well.” Ezio turned to Rebecca, his eyes solemn.  “ _Signorina_ Rebecca, _per favore_ , let me borrow one of your silver blades.”

Rebecca hesitated, and Leonardo quickly inserted himself in front of Ezio, his hands upraised.  “ _Messer_ Mario, I am here in your territory under your protection, _si_?”

“Yes,” Mario said, frowning.  “If it is about the two lapses in security, I will make apologies to the _Duce_.  I will assign Federico to you upon his return.”

“No, not that.  You would agree that the Auditore have given their word to prevent my death?”

“Of course.”

“You are familiar with the Ottoman system, with _arkadaş_ and their hosts,” Leonardo said carefully.  “I saw the books in your study, well-thumbed.  Then you must know, when an _arkadaş_ dies, so does their host.”

“What are you… are you implying that…!” Mario stared at Leonardo’s bandaged wrist with an expression of horror.

“I am not implying anything,” Leonardo undid Rebecca’s knots and pulled off the bandage.  The bite was healing, but still reddened and starkly visible. 

“ _Ezio_ ,” Mario expostulated, throwing his hands up as though in disgust.  “Our _guest_.”

“We are _not_ -” Ezio yelped as Leonardo stepped backwards, heavily, onto his foot.  “It wasn’t… Leonardo, _stop_ that!”

“Are you so sure?” Leonardo said innocently.  “Perhaps if you die, then so will I.”

“I will have to discuss this with your father,” Mario said gravely, visibly shaken, while Maria seemed to grow even paler.  “We will return to Monteriggioni and await his arrival.”

“Leonardo is _lying_ ,” Ezio snapped, “It was too brief to form the bond described in your books.  I only had a glimpse of his mind and-” The rest of Ezio’s words were cut off as Mario growled, a rumbling, wolflike sound of menace.

“ _Your father and I will decide this_.  Come.  Meet us in Monteriggioni.” Mario strode out of the church, and after some hesitation, Maria stepped forward and hugged Ezio tightly.  When he didn’t move, she sighed softly and kissed his forehead, before turning away to follow Mario out of the church, twisting into a kestrel once she was outside and launching up into the sky.  Once the older vampires were gone, Ezio rounded on Leonardo with a low hiss.

“ _Why_ did you do that? I deserve to die!”

“Dying wouldn’t solve anything,” Leonardo retorted calmly.  “Who would catch Jacopo? Who would avenge the hanged man and the other Conti guards who were murdered? Instead, all that entails from your death would be grief, and our enemies will be all the stronger.”

“You lied to my uncle and my mother!”

“I let them draw their own conclusions.”

“You humans do not understand us,” Ezio snarled, “Our laws, our way of life, our honor!”

“True honor is not earned in death but in life, Ezio.” Leonardo replied evenly, unrepentant.

Ezio wavered, glaring at him, teeth bared, his fingers working into fists, then he said, venomously, “I looked into your mind, Leonardo da Vinci.  I know why you saved me.  You like handsome men-” Ezio cursed and stumbled back at the punch, and Rebecca rubbed regretfully at her now aching wrist.  It had rather been like punching a wall.

“I’ve had enough of you, you fucking brat,” Rebecca growled, as Ezio stared at her, his eyes wide in shock.  “Leonardo is trying to _help_ you and you’re only interested in the easy way out.  You don’t want to deal with your guilt, do you? Are you even interested in making things right?”

“I cannot make things right!” Ezio snapped, gesturing angrily at the altar.  “Stefano is dead!”

“Blah, blah, you ate him, so fucking sad,” Rebecca hissed.  “I grew up in a village under Pazzi control, you spoiled prick, and it was only liberated by the Medici when I had come of age.  I’ve seen your kind do far worse to humans.  You want to make up for it, then _do_ something about Jacopo and the rest of the vampires that are like him and his _famiglia_.  Besides,” she added, more kindly, as Ezio’s shoulders slumped in visible defeat, “Whatever the Borgia and the others are planning, the _Duce_ probably needs all the help he can get.  All right?”

Ezio closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, then he sighed out aloud.  “ _Va bene._ But if my father decides to kill me, then you must stay out of his way, both of you.”

“Giovanni is, by all accounts that I have heard, rather reasonable.  And you are his son.” Leonardo pointed out, clearly sensing victory.

“He will not be as easily persuaded as my uncle.” Ezio said flatly.  “Let us return.”


	8. Chapter 8

I

 

Kadar knew it was stupid and suicidal, but he automatically relaxed once he crossed the neutral grounds into Auditore territory.  He had been here before a handful of times on Robert’s behalf, spying on the movements of the _condottieri_ , because he was expendable and because even _Robert_ couldn’t catch him in the air.  So long as he kept alert, he was fairly safe high enough up in the air that the truebloods couldn’t invoke most of their powers.

Robert had kept him rather longer than he had implied, and flying was a blessed relief from days of the templar’s usual abuses.  Robert hadn’t been particularly pleased that he had tried to keep from mentioning Malik to him, and had been angry that Kadar had disobeyed the spirit of his commands.  Still, being able to just _see_ Malik again had made it all worthwhile: Kadar would do it all again if he had to.  His brother had always been the strong one, the one who knew the answer to everything.  If Malik said he would free Kadar, then he would keep his word.

Also, Kadar rather enjoyed it here, in supposed enemy territory.  Unlike what Jerusalem had become, and the holdings of the Borgia and the Pazzi that he had seen of late, the Auditore territory seemed _normal_.  Kids walked around after nightfall, with no apparent fear of the dark, and once Kadar had dared to fly close enough to Monteriggioni to witness one of the Auditore vampires, the stocky, tall one known as Mario, talking and laughing with a group of farmers.

It was so strange.  From what he had heard and observed, the Duke of Firenze, Lorenzo de’ Medici, had allied with the Auditore – a sort of alliance that was previously unheard of – and judging from the rumors, was possibly about to mount an assault on one of the Borgia holdings.  Robert had shut him out of the discussions, when the other truebloods had arrived at the monastery, but Kadar had turned himself into a mouse and crept up behind the wall of the meeting room, hardly daring to move and hoping that the scents and movements of the real mice in the cavity would hide his own presence.  Thankfully, Robert had been too busy locking horns with Rodrigo Borgia to notice.

He had been told to fly over to Conti and take a look overhead at an abandoned church, then head south to circle the fortified towns and gauge if Monteriggioni was preparing for war.  So far, so good – nothing appeared particularly different from his last trip.  Perhaps the only muscle that the Auditore were contributing was their own.  Allah knew that it would be sufficient.  Even in Syria, the Auditore had a reputation.

Conti seemed uninteresting.  The guardpost at the fortified gate had been shattered, but it was already in the process of being rebuilt; scaffolding propped up the squat tower like a fragile, unlovely exoskeleton.  There was an old church with a battered door, the damage seemingly recent, but it appeared empty.  Nothing else seemed to be out of the ordinary.

Kadar made one last sweep around Conti, and then headed south, careful to watch the color of the sky.  As such, it was by sheer luck that he noticed the dark speck swooping down upon him. 

Hastily, Kadar flipped his wings close to his body and rolled, barely avoiding the peregrine as it dived past at a speed that could have broken his back had the falcon landed on him.  He used the momentum to bank over into an updraft, flaring his wings as the peregrine cut deftly out of its stoop and soared up to gain height.  Its eyes were _orange_.

Cursing in his mind, Kadar desperately forced himself into the shapechange, gritting his teeth against the instinctive panic during the seconds within which he lost his wings and grew into his original form, the spine-popping sheer _drop_ until he twisted again into feathers.  At the last moment, his wings and tail still sorting themselves out, he managed to roll again in mid flight, avoiding another deadly stoop.

Lighter and faster, as a spine-tailed swift Kadar fled for the border, gaining height and speed.  He’d been _careless_.  He should have come as an owl, or any nocturnal bird.  Instead, he had assumed his favorite form without even _thinking_ about it.

The whistle of air was all that alerted him before he banked sharply and arrowed to his left, avoiding _another_ peregrine as it dove past, this one smaller and paler in hue.  How many _were_ there?

Frightened, Kadar redoubled his efforts, as the smaller peregrine pursued him hotly.  He was within sight of the border to the Auditore territory when he allowed himself a little sigh of relief.  The peregrine was almost out of sight, he couldn’t see the other one, and when he was in this form, nothing could catch him.  He’ll just hide somewhere, wait a day, and then return.

When the small peregrine circled away, giving up, Kadar realized he had passed the border.  Relieved, he only allowed himself to slow down once the low fence that marked the Auditore holdings was out of sight.  Wearily, he circled down towards the first structure he could see, some sort of abandoned grain store beside an overgrown farm, and squeezed through a hole in the boarded entrance.  Inside was musty and dark, and Kadar settled himself on a dusty mound of rotting hay, too high on adrenaline to rest.  He had to calm down.

Changing reluctantly back into his true form, Kadar sat down cross-legged on the hay, slowly controlling himself the way he had been taught in Masyaf.  The next moment, his heart was in his throat as a hand clapped over his mouth, and a large hand twisted his arm behind his back.

“ _Buona sera_ , _uccellino_ ,” someone purred in a deep, male voice behind his ear, then added, in broken but passable Arabic, “You gave my sister and I quite the chase.”

Kadar let out what he hoped was a fairly manly sound and not a squeal of fright in any way as he tried to wrench free, and nearly jerked his arm out of its socket.  His captor swore in Italian and slammed him onto the packed earth, pinning him down with his superior weight and holding him down until he stopped struggling.  Then the assailant began to laugh, rich and throaty and _pleased_.

“The little Al-Sayf is rather different from the big one.”

“You know my brother?” The words were out despite Kadar’s determination to stay silent, and he bit down on his lip as he connected the dots quickly.  “You are Federico Auditore.” Allah help him!

Federico chuckled again, probably sensing his fear and enjoying it.  “It takes a very brave or foolish vampire to change forms in mid air, _uccellino_.”

“I could not outrun you as a falcon, I had no choice.” Kadar paused.  “How did you find me?”

“While my sister chased you, I became an owl, and then waited high above to see where you would go.”

It figured.  He should have run further, first, circled around, perhaps.  Kadar groaned, and thumped his forehead on the dirt in despair.  He was an _idiot_.  “What are you going to do to me?”

Federico hummed thoughtfully.  “Well, as cute as you are, _uccellino_ , you _are_ an enemy spy.  It will come down to my father’s and uncle’s decisions.  _But_ seeing as father is so very anxious to stay on _Duce_ Lorenzo’s good side at the moment, I think you will have more than a fair chance.”

“You shouldn’t,” Kadar said quickly.  “I’m an enemy.  I haven’t drunk my sire’s blood.  At any time-”

“Oh, you’ll be a prisoner, not a guest.  But it’ll probably be more comfortable than staying with Robert de Sable, I think.”

“Still, if he wants, he can call me back.  He can see what I see.”

Federico sighed, and flipped Kadar around, onto his back.  “Do you know much about truebloods and made vampires, Kadar?”

“The sire’s link is absolute,” Kadar said warily, “Until either of them dies, or if the childer drinks the sire’s blood.”

“I know a few tricks.” Federico’s mouth drifted up against his neck, and despite himself, Kadar shivered violently in instinct, expecting agony.  “Shh, shh.  Calm down, _uccellino_.  I won’t hurt you.  Here.  Drink.”  A wrist pressed against his lips, and Kadar hesitated, confused.  “You will see what I mean quite shortly.”

Dubiously, Kadar bit, then inhaled sharply; Federico’s blood was nothing like a human’s – cool, thick and _rich_.  Whining deep in his throat, Kadar pressed up against the wound, dimly hearing Federico laugh, lips pressing against the scars on his throat.

Then Federico bit down, and Kadar’s world seemed to turn white hot with sheer ecstasy; he let go of Federico’s wrist and screamed, arching up into the other vampire’s mouth.  He could feel Federico smirk against him as the trueblood pulled back, then Kadar found himself opening his mouth eagerly into a deep kiss, their blood mingling in their throats, tongues curling against each other in their mouths.  Federico was purring when he drew away.

“You are quite sensitive, _uccellino_.”

“That was… that was nothing like Robert.” Kadar said breathlessly, then he flushed in mortification as he moved and realized that his breeches were now… sticky.

“Ah, _certo_.  I am nothing like Robert.” Federico laughed again when Kadar scrambled to apologize.  “No, no insult was taken.”

“Can you,” Kadar gulped, then said shyly, “Can you do that again?”

“Oh, and now _l’uccellino_ becomes greedy,” Federico, however, brushed his lips playfully over the fresh wound on Kadar’s neck, eliciting a soft, badly stifled moan.  “Perhaps someplace brighter where I watch you when you come.” His mouth curled into a grin at Kadar’s squeak of embarrassment and indignation.  “Do you notice a difference?”

Kadar forced himself to concentrate, even with Federico’s distracting bulk blanketing him and those lips at his neck chasing the ghost of his pleasure.  “Oh.  _Oh_.  I can barely sense it.”

“You see,” Federico said, so very smug, even as Kadar hugged him tightly in joy.

“Thank you!”

“It does not solve matters,” Federico warned, though he ruffled Kadar’s hair.  “Let us return to Monteriggioni before Claudia decides to check on us.  I should introduce you to my family.”

“You, er,” Kadar was all too aware that he was blushing.  “Is this _normally_ how you treat spies?”

“A cute _uccellino_ like you probably deserves an exception,” Federico said teasingly, nuzzling his ear.  “But like I have said, your brother is close to _Duce_ Lorenzo, and I think it may be in our best interests to poach you.”

“May Allah bless diplomacy,” Kadar said dryly, biting down on a purr as a big hand rubbed languidly down his spine in response.  Whatever Federico’s reasons were, this was the first kindness offered to him since he had become a vampire, and he desperately wanted to trust fate and take his chances.  Snuggling closer, starved for intimacy, he murmured tentatively, “You are not as bad as I have heard.”

“Oh, and what did you hear?” Federico seemed amused.

“Whenever the others met with Robert, they tended to discuss the Auditore.” The hand on his back froze just for a second, then continued to pet him as Kadar rubbed his cheek against Federico’s shoulder, a little embarrassed at his body’s reaction but not really in the mood to control it.  “The fat one with the big beard, the noisy ones, the bald one, and the thin one with the dark eyes, among others.  I would turn into a mouse and listen to them.”

“Did you now,” Federico said, contemplative.  “Then it is good fortune that I did not kill you after all.” He shook with silent laughter as Kadar stiffened, horrified.  “It was a joke, _uccellino_."

“If it was,” Kadar said reproachfully, “It was not in good taste.”

“Mm.” Lips pressed against his skin, and Kadar shivered at the teasingly light press of pointed teeth.  “Then let me make it up to you before we leave.” 

 

II

 

“You really think there’re still husks around the city?”

Shaun grit his teeth and counted to ten for patience.  He was _sure_ that Malik had assigned the vampires to him because he had more or less fucked over his assignment to Lorenzo, what with getting the _Duce_ hurt _and_ kidnapped _and_ bitten.  For someone that famous in vampire hunting circles, Malik could be remarkably vindictive.

Thankfully, Altaïr preferred to keep to himself, either following them in eagle form or sneaking around in the shadows.  Shaun had argued with him at first, but it was clearly half-hearted, anyway.  The Syrian vampire unnerved him a lot more than Miles.  At least Miles _seemed_ fairly harmless, and Shaun was fairly sure that if worst came to worst, he could at least incapacitate the fledgling.  Of Altaïr, he wasn’t so sure.

“Even if there _weren’t_ , we still patrol.  People here depend on the _Duce_ ,” Shaun growled, suppressing the urge to fire a few silver crossbolts into choice parts of Miles’ body.  Damn Rebecca for agreeing to hop over to Monteriggioni until Lucy got better.  Now he had no partner, and therefore no real reason to object to the babysitting assignment.

“I see.” Miles was only silent for all of a minute, as they weaved their way through an alley close to the Ponte Vecchio.  It had been days since Vieri’s attack, but it didn’t hurt to be wary.  “How long have you known Malik?”

“Since I got here.” Shaun glared at Miles over his shoulder.  “The way you fucking jabber all the time, we won’t find _anything_.”

“Actually, those things are attracted to sound,” Miles retorted, unrepentant, “So the more noise we make, the more of them we’ll attract.  Is Malik always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like someone stole his favorite teddy bear and ripped it to shreds.”

Despite himself, Shaun smirked.  The kid was annoying, but he had his moments – he _could_ sort of see how Lucy might have made friends with him while she was in Abstergo.  “I’ll give you five florins if you say that to his face.”

“Five florins isn’t worth being castrated, thanks.”

“To give you an answer, yes.  He’s always like that.”

“Wow.” Miles was silent again, as he thought this over, and Shaun rounded a corner that would take him up a narrow flight of stairs to a parapet, where he would be able to get a good view over the bazaar district.  “How does the _Duce_ handle it?”

“The _Duce_? They’re good friends.” Shaun scanned the area, looking over the cloth-covered hulks of stalls.  Nothing.  The husks had been more or less declared exterminated at this point in time, but none of the Firenze citizens were taking any chances.  “I don’t know what you’re implying, kid, but Malik’s a good man.  He’s the best of us.”

“I’m not a kid.” Miles muttered, as Shaun started down the stairs.  “I’m at _least_ as old as you are.”

“Sure,” Shaun said dryly. 

“So,” Miles continued, as they wove past the empty bazaar, “He never said anything to you about Altaïr before?”

“I gather he spoke to the _Duce_ about his past,” Shaun shrugged.  “But he isn’t interested in sharing with the rest of us, and honestly, it’s none of my fucking business.  If he’s good at staking you lot, that’s good enough for me.”

“I can guess why Malik and Lucy hate vampires,” Miles circled in front of him, “What’s _your_ reason?”

“What’s everyone’s reason?” Shaun asked rhetorically, coldly, “We’ve all lost people we loved.  Now get the fuck out of my face, kid.  We’ve got another couple of hours until the end of my shift, and I already need a beer.”

“I used to be human too,” Miles persisted, his hands clenched tight.  “I didn’t _choose_ to be a vampire.”

“The operative words there are ‘used to be’, Miles.  Get out of the way.”

 

III

 

Sometimes Rebecca rather envied Leonardo’s ability to simply change mental gears whenever he felt like it.  Returning to Monteriggioni had been an extremely tense affair; Ezio had been mobbed immediately at the gates by anxious _condottieri_ , and Rebecca had quickly dragged Leonardo off to the workshop to debrief Lucy.  Besides, nothing was going to happen until Giovanni returned, anyway, and the old vampire would probably want to speak to Leonardo before he made a decision.

Now Leonardo was humming some complex melody under his breath as he sketched some impossible-looking engine on his easel by candlelight, as though the day’s events hadn’t happened at all.  His only concession had been a change of bandages on his wrist.

“…I _told_ you not to take risks,” Lucy sighed, finally running out of steam for her tirade.  “You’re hopeless, Rebecca.”

“Now that isn’t fair,” Rebecca said, though she grinned.  Lucy and the others had observed the two _condottieri_ return, and the furor that they brought with them, and had probably assumed the worst, particularly when they could get only conflicting information _and_ when Leonardo and Rebecca hadn’t returned before nightfall.  Lucy looked haggard, and Piero had hugged her tightly when they had returned to the workshop.

“It was my decision to take a look at Conti, Lucy,” Leonardo said gently, without turning around.

“Yes, but Rebecca should have known better than to let you,” Lucy scowled at Rebecca.  It was fairly good imitation of Malik’s default expression, and Rebecca’s grin widened.  “Leonardo, did you _really_ … did Ezio really imprint on you?”

“Without any other firsthand experience, I am not sure,” Leonardo eyed his work critically, and made a quick shaded adjustment.  “We will find out when he tries to feed, perhaps.  Or if Ezio were to be executed.”

“I doubt it,” Rebecca chipped in, “I mean, it was only a couple of seconds.”

Lucy groaned, putting her head in her hands.  “Malik is going to _kill_ me.”

“This is most fascinating,” Leonardo said happily.  “Why, in actual fact, does an imprinted _human_ die when his _arkadaş_ dies? Surely there must be a chemical reason behind it.  Perhaps the daily ritual of feeding creates a sort of mutual dependency.  But that would not explain why the deterioration of an imprinted human is immediate rather than gradual, like an _arkadaş_ that starves.”

“You’re not making this any better, Leonardo.” Lucy muttered.

“I think I may be close to understanding why most humans die from a bite,” Leonardo continued, pointedly ignoring Lucy.  “It is not so much an instant poisoning as a person’s mental shock, shall we say, to a psychic intrusion.  People become catatonic, and then they die.  Often, also from severe blood loss and perhaps infection.”

“ _Ezio_ suffered the mental shock when he bit _you_ ,” Rebecca pointed out mildly.  “I’m not so sure what that says about you, Leonardo.”

“It was very interesting,” Leonardo sounded a little hurt.  “The sensation of having another, foreign mind within your own head.  It was rather like having a conversation without saying the words.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Rebecca said with mock solemnity, even as Lucy groaned again. 

“ _Why_ did you intervene, Leonardo?”

“You mean, as compared to letting Ezio’s uncle kill him in front of his mother?” Leonardo’s tone switched quickly from dreamy exposition to an iron, almost dangerous calm that startled Rebecca every time.  It was rather like being cross-examined by a rabbit.

“His welfare isn’t your concern, Leonardo.”

“Diplomatically speaking, I think it should be.” Leonardo disagreed.  “The Auditore are our allies now.  And in any regard,” he raised his voice slightly, as Lucy tried to interject, “I find the loss of _any_ life repugnant.  Particularly when it is pointless.”

“Ezio and the Auditore have their own laws,” Lucy said irritably.  “He broke them, he pays for it.”

“Laws need to change with the circumstances.  That is why we have judges and juries.” Leonardo said gently, wryly.  “And regardless, I think that no law should operate to cause the execution of another.  That is my opinion, _Messer_.”

Rebecca and Lucy looked around sharply, even as Giovanni stepped quietly out of the shadows beside the stairwell, his expression unreadable even as Leonardo turned to regard him with a polite smile.

“It is a pleasure to see you at last, Leonardo da Vinci.”

“And I you, _Messer_.  I hope that our first meeting will not end in sorrow.” Leonardo shook Giovanni’s hand firmly.

“Please accompany me to the villa, _Maestro_ ,” Giovanni’s brusque tone indicated that this was not a request.  “Mario and I wish to speak with you about Ezio.”


	9. Chapter 9

I

 

About a day into looking over his shoulder at shadows, Malik sat down at a stone bench in the Medici palazzo’s courtyard when his shift at guarding Lorenzo ended, and rubbed a palm over his eyes.  “Come out, Altaïr.”

There was silence, as Malik counted his heartbeats until the twelfth, and then Altaïr was perched on the balls of his feet on the bench beside him, tensed, like an awkward bird wary of a trap, his black cowl drawn down deep enough to hide his expression.

“When did you start wearing black?” Malik asked peremptorily, for a lack of anything else to start with that was neutral enough.

“When I stopped deserving Masyaf whites.”

Malik snorted, ignoring how Altaïr tensed further as he drew his blade and laid it across his lap, and then reaching for cloth and oil from the pouch at his waist.  “You wear the bracer.”

Altaïr nodded slowly, as Malik spread rags over his knees, then pulled silver over it.  “I thought of discarding it, but it has saved my life – both before and after.  When I have killed Robert, I can return it to you.”

“Return it to Masyaf,” Malik retorted shortly.  “I no longer belong there.”

“Al Mualim cast you out?”

“Al Mualim has his own agenda.” One that Malik had increasingly grown skeptical of, though he had held his counsel, seeing that Altaïr had been fond of the old Master.  “I felt it no longer aligned with mine.”

“And you came here, to sell your blade to the Medici.”

Malik refused to rise to the veiled bait.  “ _Duce_ Lorenzo is a very impressive man.”

Altaïr’s jaw actually _tightened_.  Blinking, Malik was not quite sure what to make of that.  Even when Altaïr had still been human, what they had between them was mere convenience.  Malik hadn’t even _liked_ Altaïr, then.  He had trusted Altaïr to keep what was potentially a highly damaging subject matter to himself, if out of self-preservation, but the man had been arrogant and undisciplined even when he had been human, and more often than not, Kadar had to intervene to prevent fistfights.

 _Kadar_.

“I did not think you would turn mercenary,” Altaïr persisted, though at least he had the grace to keep his tone neutral.

“Hunting vampires needs resources.  Also, Masyaf protects only its own.  With the _Duce_ , there is a potential for much more.”

“No armaments in the world can allow you to revenge yourself on Robert de Sable.”

“No,” Malik balanced the blade over his thighs and began to polish it.  “But I will be content with the knowledge that I have contributed in any way to his death.  We have Leonardo and now we have the Auditore.”

“You did not approve of the Auditore.”

“They are a means to an end.  That much, I can appreciate.” Malik instinctively disliked Giovanni and his ilk, but even his hatred of vampires was not so much as to blind him to how _useful_ Lorenzo’s evident control over Giovanni’s actions could be.  And of all men, Lorenzo could definitely be trusted to maintain balance over so difficult a creature, Malik felt.

Lorenzo enjoyed the concept of subverting immovable forces – it was one of his favorite topics.  For the first time in Italia, it appeared that a human had successfully gained indirect control of one of the oldest vampire _famiglia_ , if by accident.  Malik was optimistic.

“Giovanni and your _Duce_ appear… close.”

“Out of necessity.”

“Hn.” Altaïr smirked, a little unpleasantly.  “You were not here.  Giovanni is possessive.”

“Shaun described the matter to me,” Malik countered.  “Only because you and Miles were all but salivating over the _Duce’s_ wounds.”

The smirk faded into a scowl.  “Hardly that.”

“Surely you have not been following me to describe to me my employer’s private affairs,” Malik said coldly, exasperated by the insinuation. 

It was none of his concerns, as long as Lorenzo did not lose sight of his goals.  He had just spent a frustrating three hours going over a detailed set of strategies and a map of Venezia and its surrounds with Lorenzo and a chosen private council of hunters, including Hastings, and he was tired.  No vampires could cross the waters, and Giovanni had not been around to advise if he would be willing to commit any of his _condottieri_.  The meeting had turned into hypothetical scenarios, and then fancies, and then Lorenzo had called an early closure. 

“I wanted to know,” Altaïr said slowly, “Were I to kill Robert de Sable and free Kadar, were I to stay and help the _Duce_ , would you consider forgiving me?”

The question startled Malik enough that he stopped attending to the silver sword and turned to regard the vampire.  Altaïr’s head was bowed, the hood furled over his nose to show only the thin, hard line of his mouth.

“When was that ever important to you?” Malik settled for contempt where confusion only annoyed.

“I want to know, Malik.”

“I wish that you had died in the temple, Altaïr,” Malik turned the blade over and rubbed the cloth up the flat.  “One does not do well to think ill of the dead, and forgiveness is easier to dispense.”

“That is not an answer.”

“You’ll get my answer when my brother is free.” Malik slipped the newly oiled blade back into its sheath, and wrapped up the cloth.

 

II

 

After some argument, Mario grudgingly agreed to allow Rebecca to remain in the study, albeit with the covenant that she try the _best_ she could to stay _silent_.  Grumbling under her breath but obeying the beseeching look Leonardo shot her way, Rebecca settled in a chair in the corner of the study, trying not to feel like a punished child. 

Mario’s study was a curious place – a wall behind Mario had a large world map upon it, well-worn and ragged at parts where seemingly blank squares of paper had been tacked onto it.  Books and reports covered every available inch of space on the antique desk and the guest’s chair, and instead of paintings the walls sported weapons in various degrees of loving care.  Part of the wall to her left ended in an archway, which led into a winding stairwell.

Mario closed both doors to the study with a flick of shadow, and fixed Leonardo with a stern stare.  “Giovanni informed me of your opinion, Leonardo.”

“ _Si_.” Leonardo smiled, holding the old vampire’s stare evenly.

“We are in a… complicated position.” Mario scowled, clearly unhappy with intricacies.  “ _I_ myself have assured you that you are under our protection.  Ezio, for your information, most probably did not imprint on you – unlike his father he is still able at this point to take another’s blood.”

“ ‘Most probably’, _Messer_.” Leonardo said genially.

“Recognise that were you not who you are – the famous Leonardo da Vinci, the treasure of the Medici – we would not have hesitated to carry out our law immediately.” Giovanni said quietly.  “I understand your motives, but it is not our way.”

“Then we can agree to disagree.”

“So, given the small chance that killing Ezio may have a negative effect on you, _Maestro_ , Mario and I have a compromise.” Giovanni looked grave.  “We will postpone the matter of Ezio’s punishment until your death, natural or otherwise.”

“And when you eventually leave Monteriggioni, after this business with the Pazzi and the Borgia,” Mario added gruffly, “Ezio will no longer be welcome here.”

Leonardo paled visibly, his eyes narrowed as he looked carefully between the elder vampires.  “Have you told him of this?”

“We will, shortly.” Mario inclined his head.

“I am human, and I am already within my thirties,” Leonardo said slowly.  “Barring any… assassination attempts, I may live another thirty, forty years.  That is barely a heartbeat of time, for your kind.  Could Ezio not redeem himself?”

“Perhaps.” Giovanni said, though his tone indicated that his words were more of an attempt to curtail further argument than a reassurance. 

“So why tell me this?”

“If Ezio’s sentence is stayed because of you, then it is fitting that for the rest of his reprieve, he should cleave to you,” Mario said flatly.  “Since he owes it to you.  You will have a protector, and perhaps my _nipote_ can finally learn some humility.  If you agree.”

“If there is no alternative then I will,” Leonardo said doubtfully, then he smiled, almost playful; the set to his jaw, however, Rebecca recognized, and she carefully positioned her feet on the ground, ready to spring up if necessary.  “ _Duce_ Lorenzo may not view your poaching well, _Messers_.”

Mario huffed, but Giovanni chuckled softly.  “And how so?”

“My loan to Monteriggioni was meant to be _temporary_.  Eventually, I do intend to return to Firenze.  Perhaps travel to Venezia, Milan, or further into the Continent.” Leonardo rubbed at his jaw.  “If I leave Monteriggioni, then Ezio can never return?”

“He will have no place here if you are not here.” Giovanni said mildly.  “I will mention this to the _Duce_.”

“And the matter of his final punishment after my death,” Leonardo continued dryly, “Do you count being turned a death, _Messers_?”

“Ah, in that regard, perhaps we have a little bias.  But no.” Giovanni inclined his head, without bothering to hide his amusement.  “Should you in the end accept the Change, you would be a valuable addition to the _camorra_.”

“Leonardo,” Rebecca said sharply, but he held up a hand quickly.

“I must agree to his company, if that is the only way you will spare Ezio for now.  As to the rest,” Leonardo’s smile was sharp, “Perhaps you should discuss it with the _Duce_.  He will know stronger words than I.”

“Good.” Giovanni said solemnly, ignoring the rest of Leonardo’s words.  “Please wait in the foyer or the garden while I speak with my son, _Maestro_.”

Rebecca rose to her feet, though she started forward when Giovanni circled around the desk, leaning close to whisper in Leonardo’s ear.  He smiled lazily at her as she pulled herself short, then Leonardo’s long fingers were curled gently but firmly at her elbow, tugging her towards the garden.

She followed Leonardo as he inspected old, cracked statues set on plinths at intervals in the garden, watching the sky out of habit.  “The _Duce_ is going to be furious.”

“Will he be?” Leonardo brushed at the detail of a statuette’s tunic with his thumb.  “It is not so poor an outcome, politically speaking.  My loyalty remains with _il Magnifico_ , regardless of whether I invent from Monteriggioni or from Firenze.”

“They’re vampires.  They’re looking at the long term.  It’ll be just _like_ you to get turned for Ezio’s sake, if you get fond of the brat.”

“And were I turned, do you think I would be much different from who I am now?” Leonardo didn’t look up as he studied the plaque at the base of the plinth, then he chuckled when Rebecca didn’t answer.  “A curious contemplation for another time, perhaps.  We have more visitors.”

Rebecca looked up sharply, even as a small peregrine banked out of the sky, turning into a young female vampire – probably Claudia Auditore.  As Leonardo stepped forward to greet her, another peregrine and a small brown falcon followed suit, turning into a tall, broad-shouldered and handsome man, who winked at her and grinned at Leonardo; and a slimmer, slender youth with disturbingly familiar features, wide eyes and an unruly shock of short dark hair.

“Jesus Christ,” Rebecca breathed.  “It’s a baby version of Malik.”

The youth blushed visibly under the moonlight and shuffled behind the tall vampire – likely Federico Auditore.  As Rebecca laughed out loud with surprise at his diffidence, Leonardo was already shaking hands with Federico, then bowing to Claudia.

“ _Messer_ Federico, _signorina_ Claudia.  A pleasure.” Leonardo stared keenly at the youth, for a long moment, then he smiled.  “And _signore_ Kadar Al-Sayf.”

“You know my name?” Kadar said, with innocent astonishment, in heavily accented English.

Leonardo switched smoothly out of the Italian tongue.  “Malik mentioned you once to me.  He did not, however, mention that you were a vampire.”

“Ah… that, well,” Kadar mumbled, averting his eyes quickly, and Federico cut in smoothly in Italian.

“Robert concealed it even from Malik, _Maestro_.  Kadar has some important news to tell Father and uncle.”

“They are… occupied at the moment,” Leonardo said delicately, as though wondering whether or not to disclose Ezio’s predicament, but Claudia made an unhappy sound and Federico reached over to squeeze her shoulders lightly.

“Then we shall not intrude, for now.” Federico said, more soberly.  “I hear you tried to help my brother.  For what it is worth, _grazie_ , but I did not hear much of it from our mother.  Pray tell, what truly occurred at Conti?”

As Leonardo gave a brief summary of what had occurred, Rebecca found herself circling around Federico to get a closer look at Kadar, who instantly shuffled even closer to Federico.  The young vampire seemed weirdly _timid_.  It was both hilarious and a little ironic, given his lineage and blood relation.  _Although perhaps_ , Rebecca felt, eyeing the horrific gouging scars on Kadar’s neck under a fresh, cleaner one, _Kadar probably had reason enough_. 

“You should come to Firenze,” Rebecca told Kadar in English, who was staring at her, wide-eyed.  “I’m sure the _Duce_ would love to meet you.”

“I shouldn’t,” Kadar said earnestly.  “I haven’t been freed.  I’ll be a danger to your _Duce_.  At least in Monteriggioni, I think I can be stopped if anything happens.  Actually I didn’t even want to be here.  When Robert finds me I could hurt you.”

“You’re such a cute kid,” Rebecca grinned, and Federico arched an eyebrow briefly at her as he curled his arm around Kadar’s waist, possessively, before looking back to Leonardo.  “How did you end up so cute when your brother is so grouchy?”

“He wasn’t always like that,” Kadar mumbled.

“Really?”

“Well… not entirely.” Kadar glanced up at Federico, then back to her, his voice now an anxious murmur.  “He’s a hunter now.  Do you think he will hate me? I am no longer human.”

“Have you met him yet?” Rebecca decided to tread warily, seeing as Federico had stopped talking to Leonardo and was watching her with studied intensity.

“I did.”

“And? You’re still alive.”

“He seemed no different.  But he was in shock, and now he has had time to think.” Kadar said unhappily.  “I cannot bear it if he hates me.”

“If he does I’ll punch him in the face,” Rebecca said cheerfully, her tried and true solution to immovable objects, and Kadar winced, even as Federico shook silently in laughter and Claudia smiled. 

“I am _sure_ -” Leonardo began soothingly, but Federico brought a hand up sharply, palm out for silence, and he turned around.

Ezio was stalking towards them, his lips thinned with anger, and as Rebecca instinctively tried to get to Leonardo’s side, her hand on the hilt of a dagger, Federico reached out quickly and grasped her shoulder firmly.

“Ezio,” Federico began, his voice jovial, “ _Buona sera_.”

Ezio shot his brother, sister and Kadar a cursory glance, then seemed to ignore them, sinking to his knees before Leonardo instead, and picking up the startled engineer’s right hand.  Eyes narrowed and dark with fury, Ezio brushed his lips across Leonardo’s knuckles in a mocking kiss, and grit out, “ _Grazie_ for your mercy, _umano_.”

Leonardo sighed.  “Ezio.”

The vampire, however, was already in flight, as a dark hawk that swept up into the sky and over the ivy-draped wall of the Auditore villa, leaving behind him an uncomfortable silence.  Claudia looked between Federico and Leonardo, the set of her mouth almost accusing, then she too, turned into a peregrine, leaping into flight after her brother.

“That didn’t go well,” Rebecca said finally.

“Ezio has always been a proud one.” Federico walked up to Leonardo, Kadar in tow, and clapped him on the shoulder. “He will come around.”

“How many years before he becomes more like his older brother?” Rebecca asked dryly.

Federico grinned.  “Oh, we are only about half a century or so apart in terms of human time.  Claudia is younger, and Petruccio is younger still.  Father, uncle, _buona sera_.”

Mario frowned at Federico once both of the older vampires were in speaking distance, even as Kadar shrank back.  “Who is this?”

“Kadar Al-Sayf,” Federico introduced, propelling the young vampire in front of him.  “Claudia and I caught him circling above Conti and chased him down.”

Giovanni glanced at Mario, who had bared his teeth.  “ _Conti_? Did he have anything to do with Jacopo?”

“Robert sent him to check on our territory.  I do not think he is involved.”

“And how are you so sure?” Mario demanded, belligerent.

“Federico looked into his mind, Mario.” Giovanni was quicker to pick up on the fresh bite.  “He would have made certain.”

“As taught, father.” Federico inclined his head.  “I propose that we keep Kadar here, and notify Malik that he is safe.  Besides, he has listened in to some of the Templars’ discussions and-”

“With Robert about, he will be a liability.” Mario interrupted.  “Give him to Lorenzo and let the humans decide what to do with him.  Have him talk to Lorenzo about what he has learned.  By Giovanni’s account, they themselves are also dealing with another vampire who has not been freed.  They can afford to add one more to their wings.”

Federico’s expression did not change, but Kadar’s shoulders slumped.  “Uncle-”

“Your sister, your youngest brother, your mother are here, Federico.” Mario said flatly.  “That is my decision.  Giovanni?”

“I have to agree,” Giovanni said reluctantly.  “I recognize what you are about to say, Federico.  As the child by your side is now, he is unlikely to be able to harm any of us, and perhaps he even has valuable information.  But even were I able to take that risk, Leonardo is currently under our care, and even a fledgling vampire is well-suited to kill a human.  The risk is too great.  Escort him to Firenze.  Let Lorenzo decide.”

“By your will, father, uncle,” Federico said reluctantly, bowing his head, then spoke in English.  “ _Maestro_ Leonardo, _signorina_ Rebecca, it was a pleasure.  Come, Kadar, we fly.”

“Don’t look like that,” Rebecca dared reach over and ruffle Kadar’s hair.  “Firenze is great.  Once I get back, I’ll show you around.”  Kadar smiled weakly, mouthing a silent _thank you_ , before following Federico up into the air as a falcon.  Mario snorted, already stalking back to the mansion, but Giovanni hesitated.

“How did Ezio react, Leonardo?”

“He took things poorly, _Messer_ ,” Leonardo said wryly.  “As you would expect.”

“He needs to understand consequences.” Giovanni said heavily.  “Maria wishes to speak to you.  I need to address the _condottieri_.”

“Very well.”

“And then afterwards,” Giovanni continued, looking uneasy, “I believe I need to discuss my… condition with you.  Privately.”


	10. Chapter 10

I

 

Lorenzo was discussing strategic approaches with regards to a concerted attack on Venezia as compared to a subtle takeover, in the common room of the hunter’s headquarters, when someone knocked quickly if respectfully at the door.  Lorenzo didn’t look up, still studying the map and its markers, lost in mental calculations.  “Hastings, _per favore_.” 

“Right.” Shaun was a historian by trade and fairly decent in a fight (or so he hoped), but strategy sessions bored him once they moved on to the nuts and bolts.  He sidled over to the door and opened it, ignoring the curious glance over from Desmond.  The fledgling had been sticking to him to date, as though he thought that Shaun would get any friendlier.  Disappointment was soon on the horizon, perhaps.  “What?” he whispered, as he looked out.

“A trueblood landed in the courtyard, _messer_.” It was Michel, who had been assigned on guard duties tonight for the compound, and he looked pale. 

On the other hand, he wasn’t _dead_ , which meant that it was probably one of the Auditore scions. Hopefully.

“Which one?” Shaun asked, and then flinched as Malik instantly pushed past him, striding out of the room with his hand on the hilt of his silver blade, followed closely by Altaïr.  Shaun recovered quickly enough to grab Lorenzo by the elbow when the _Duce_ made as though to follow.  “You’re staying here, _Altezza_.”

Lorenzo shot him a withering stare, but Shaun ignored it, tugging him towards the inner rooms.  At the sharp, astonished “ _Kadar?_ ” from Malik, however, the _Duce_ pulled himself out of Shaun’s grasp, and before the hunter could protest, had already swept imperiously out of the room.

Out in the courtyard was a younger looking version of Giovanni, and a strange, inverted version of Malik; a shy kid hiding behind Giovanni’s son, wide-eyed and frozen on the spot.  The kid flinched when Malik walked right up to him, frowning at the fresh wound on his neck, then scowling up at the trueblood, his single hand curling into a fist.

“Brother, _no_ ,” Kadar said quickly in Arabic, followed by something so fast that Shaun couldn’t mentally translate it in time, his expression pleading, and Malik straightened grudgingly, turning to the trueblood with narrowed eyes.

“It appears that I have you to thank,” Malik growled, speaking gruffly and sourly in Italian, “Federico Auditore.”

“It was a pleasure to be of some assistance,” Federico returned, with a cocky smile.  “Perhaps you will remember the favor to your master.”

“I shall recall it well,” Lorenzo said dryly, circling around Malik, then stopping short as Malik instinctively put out a hand to keep him from getting closer.  “Malik.”

“We do not know either of them well.” Malik ignored the hurt look that passed briefly over Kadar’s open face.  “I think you should retire until we ascertain the situation, _Duce_.”

“One is your brother, and one is Giovanni’s son,” Lorenzo pointed out gently, pushing down Malik’s arm, and reaching over to shake first Federico’s hand, then, despite Malik’s glare, Kadar’s.  “ _Buona sera_ , gentlemen.”

“ _Buona sera, Altezza_.  My father speaks very highly of you,” Federico returned, his smile sharp and his eyes flicking briefly up and down, as though studying Lorenzo, ignoring how Malik visibly bristled.  “Perhaps you are as interesting a human as he implied.”

“Can you truly keep Kadar’s… problem under control?”

“Not if Robert is close.”

“Then Robert is truly here in Italia,” Altaïr said grimly, in Arabic.  “Where is he, Kadar?”

“Closer to… he was close to Venezia,” Kadar replied, uncomfortably.  “He was meant to prevent an attack on Venezia.  If you fly westwards for half a day you will see his camp.”

“Good.” Altaïr turned to stare piercingly at Federico.  “You will be here?”

“Unless my father recalls me, yes.  Why?”

“Watch over that one,” Altaïr jerked his thumb in Desmond’s direction.  “Another fledgling.  Try to make sure that he stays out of trouble.”

“Where are you going, Altaïr?” Malik demanded.  “You will face a trueblood alone? Being turned must have rid you of most of your mind!”

“I do not intend to do so headlong.” Altaïr retorted, stepping forward, and in an instant he was a black eagle, stealing the evening breeze to soar up into the dark sky.  Malik swore, under his breath, and Kadar glanced at Federico, then his brother, uneasy. 

“Why would he do that? He is free now,” Kadar said, sounding disconcerted.  “I thought he had run away.”

“He is an idiot.” Malik glared up at the sky, then at Federico, scowling as the trueblood shrugged, blasé.  “Why did you bring my brother here? In Monteriggioni-”

“My father’s and uncle’s instructions.  Monteriggioni has Leonardo, they were concerned.”

“Then it seems that logic is not an alien concept to vampires.”

As Federico’s smile faded, Lorenzo clapped a hand on Malik’s shoulder.  “Malik, perhaps you could make some arrangements for our guests? Being the head of my security?”

Malik stared hard at Lorenzo, then at Federico, then seemed to come to a quick mental calculation.  “Hastings, stay with the _Duce_.”

“Sure, like I’ll fare well against a baby vampire _and_ a trueblood,” Shaun quipped, though he nodded.

“I’ll be here too,” Desmond cut in helpfully.

“Great.  So it’s one baby vampire and a human versus a baby vampire and a creature that could wipe the floor with all of us at the same time.”

“Your boss can summon truebloods,” Desmond said, unconcerned, as Malik stalked away, rounding up curious onlookers and directing several of them to their posts. 

“Can he now,” Federico said, amused, though he stared briefly at the high collared shirt that Lorenzo wore around his neck to hide the scar.  “Well then, _Altezza_ , it appears that _uccellino_ and I are yours to direct, now that we are here.”

“It would be good to have you at Venezia, you have proven yourself more than capable against others of your kind,” Lorenzo said, as he gestured for Federico and Kadar to follow him back towards the war room, “But it appears that we must needs have you watch Desmond and Kadar.  Perhaps if one of your brothers could be spared?”

“Petruccio is deemed yet too young, and Ezio is not in the best of moods right now.”

“Ah,” Lorenzo said, surprised enough to look back over his shoulder.  “I did hear that there was trouble.  I did not think however that your father would truly-”

“He would, and he would have, if your diplomat had not intervened.” Federico told Lorenzo a condensed version of recent events as Lorenzo settled down back at his chair at the table with the map, and the _Duce_ half-lidded his eyes, thinking, even as the vampires sat down at the table beside him and Shaun leant on the wall behind Lorenzo’s chair, arms folded. 

“That is unexpected.”

“ _Certo_ , unexpected,” Federico said, though he did not smile.  “And quite a coup for you, _Altezza_ , first my father, then my brother.  Who next? My sister? My youngest brother?”

Shaun straightened, warily, mentally calculating whether he could delay Federico and/or Kadar long enough for Lorenzo to reach the safehouse just a few metres away behind a heavy door, and Desmond frowned even as Kadar blinked slowly at them, looking uncertain.

“And you have quite a flattering view of my abilities at State and Fate, to think that I might be behind both occurrences, ser.” Lorenzo, however, was unflappable.  “Leonardo is soft hearted.  Would you rather that he had not intervened?”

“I shall reserve my judgment on that for now.” Federico retorted, though he relaxed carefully into his chair, the shadows darkening briefly and lazily around him.  “Certainly Ezio is doing so.  It is still a sentence, delaying the inevitable.”

“Leonardo is soft hearted,” Lorenzo repeated, and now his smile was thin.  “Instead, I may take a view that your father and uncle intend to poach one of my greatest assets.”

“Take it up with father, if you are,” Federico was quick to respond, though he smirked. 

“I will.  In the meantime, this may be a delicate question, but are you able to… help Miles with his-”

“Only one at a time, I am afraid, at least for me,” Federico cut in, if apologetically.  “And apologies to _signore_ Miles, but _uccellino_ is rather more adorable than you are.”

Kadar’s ears flushed pink, even as Desmond sniffed the air, grimacing as though at a revelation.  Lorenzo arched an eyebrow, but he did not comment, instead adding, “Ah, in that case, then perhaps Giovanni.”

“I do not think that he would agree.” Federico said judiciously.

“Why not? If you lot can rein in the fledglings, that makes things a hell of a lot simpler,” Shaun pointed out.  “Since _Altezza_ seems to be against getting rid of them nowadays.”

“Ah, well, it is not his way,” Federico’s tone was evasive, now.  “And he is not at his full strength.”

“I _knew_ that he was starving himself,” Lorenzo said, frowning.

“Out of necessity, _Altezza_ ,” Federico smiled.  “Unlike the Ottoman vampires, we are not trained at birth to restrict our appetites.  At the amount that we normally take – donated, of course – taking the same from a single human would sicken him within a month, perhaps kill him in two.”

 

II

 

“Hey,” the other fledgling, the one known as Desmond Miles, approached him later, and Kadar was secretly relieved to find someone who spoke fluent Arabic and who didn’t seem to be on particularly good terms with the rest.  Like him, at least according to the brief introduction provided by the sarcastic, bespectacled human hunter by Lorenzo’s side, Desmond was apparently also a new and reluctant vampire, dragged up from the Middle East. 

Kadar glanced around, but they were alone in the courtyard, at least relatively so; the hunter up on the gate hefted his crossbow as he divided his attention between the killing ground outside the gate and the pair of them.  Federico remained in the war room, discussing private matters with Lorenzo, but Kadar didn’t doubt that if he or Desmond tried anything, Federico would _know_. 

“Hi,” Kadar offered cautiously in return.  “I hear you were found with Altaïr.”

“Actually, he almost killed me when we first met,” Desmond said dryly.  “Sorry if this sounds a bit rude, but he and your brother need to lighten up.”

At that, despite himself, Kadar cracked a grin.  “They have been through too much.”

“So have you.  So have I.  You don’t see us moping around bitching out others.” Desmond pointed out.  “Since we’ve been kicked out of the adult’s discussion, I want to ask you a favor.”

“A favor? About what?”

“How did you change into a bird? I want to learn.” Desmond said earnestly.  “It looks like fun.”

“I just could,” Kadar said, puzzled that Desmond was asking.  “Vampires can change into birds.  You are a vampire, so you can, too.  Just… just concentrate?”

“Concentrate.  Like you think of yourself changing shape?”

“I think of a shape, yes.” Kadar said, trying to be helpful to his new friend but unable to articulate the visceral, automatic process of the change.  “Why don’t you just try it out first?”

“I’ve tried,” Desmond said, sounding frustrated.  “I can’t do it.  Altaïr tried to explain it to me as well, but he has very little patience.”

“That was how he was, even before.  Why don’t you try, and I’ll watch.”

Sometime later into watching Desmond squint his eyes hard and ask increasingly elaborate questions that Kadar couldn’t answer, Hastings poked his head out from behind the door.  “You two can come in now.”

“Okay,” Kadar said, a little relieved, awkwardly patting Desmond on the shoulder.  “I’m sure it’d come to you.”

Hastings stared at them both when Kadar spoke, but didn’t respond, instead slipping back into the room, as though disinterested.  Desmond seemed to deflate a little, but started walking for the room before Kadar could ask about the matter.  Kadar followed, taking a seat back beside Federico when the trueblood patted the chair, and Desmond sat at a spare chair beside him, arching an eyebrow when Federico stretched his arm across the back of Kadar’s chair. 

Kadar hoped that he wasn’t blushing, when Lorenzo glanced up from the map, speaking in near perfect Arabic.  “Federico tells me that you have been privy to several private discussions, between Robert de Sable and his compatriots.”

“They are calling themselves the Templar,” Kadar said, thinking back over the memories methodically, as he had once been trained, one lifetime ago when he was yet human.  “And they are looking for something in Italia.  A solution.”

“A solution? To?” Lorenzo asked, leaning forward.

“I do not know.  But it is something from an older civilization.  Robert mentioned this once.  Something buried in Roma.”

 

III

 

The discussions dragged on long into the night, particularly when Malik returned, and Lorenzo left Malik arguing with Kadar and Federico about where they were going to be quartered, too tired to interject, escorted back to his palazzo by Hastings and Michel.  Walking in a sleepy daze, Lorenzo barely registered greetings from guardsmen, servants and other hunters, yawning as he finally locked himself into his bedchambers and washed his face from the basin of clean water, performing his absolutions mechanically before circling over to his desk.  There was a neat pile of reports to look through, some of which would require his signature-

A purring sound and something soft rubbing against his ankles made Lorenzo look down sharply.  A black cat curled its tail playfully against his legs and wove in a figure eight between them, rubbing its cheek against the back of his bare thighs until Lorenzo chuckled and bent, picking up the cat.  “How did you get in here, _gattino_?”

The cat purred more loudly, in a soft rumble, looking up at him with fearless orange eyes.

 _Orange_. Lorenzo dropped it with an oath, backing away to his robes for the silver dagger, about to raise his voice for the guard, but the cat melted into shadow that climbed _upwards_ , coalescing abruptly into a very amused Giovanni.  “You!”

“And you were so gentle before, _Altezza_.”

“How did you get in here? You were not invited!”

“One of your pages has a fondness for cats.” Giovanni said vaguely, then added, as Lorenzo gripped the hilt of the dagger, “Come now, _Altezza_ , you know that _that_ would not work very well on _me_.”

“Get out of the palazzo, and _stay_ out.  _Now_ ,” Lorenzo added, when Giovanni didn’t budge.

Instantly, Giovanni grimaced, even taking an involuntary step towards the window, and hastily said, “I spoke to Leonardo about my problem and thought that you would like to know, as well.”

“ _Bene_ , tell me, then,” Lorenzo said, with ill grace, tired and exasperated that the vampire had tricked his way into the palazzo.  “You could have waited for tomorrow.”

“I need to tell you in private.”

“Be quick about it, then.”

Giovanni narrowed his eyes briefly at Lorenzo’s tone, but his tone remained neutral.  “Leonardo recalled my attention to the Ottoman Empire’s ‘solution’ for vampires.  In his opinion, it is a similar matter, unusually so.  As we are both aware, and in my experience to date, no adult human but you has survived a bite.”

“So it is the same as their… arrangement.” Lorenzo said, unsure what to think.  He had discussed it briefly with the Ottoman ambassador, but talks had never progressed very far from border disputes.  “I am sorry, Giovanni.  I did not think that this would happen.”

“Well,” Giovanni said, with wry humor, “ _I_ did not expect you to survive the bite, so-”

“You did not?”

“As I said-”

“And you bit me _regardless_?” Lorenzo said, incredulous.

“ _You_ insisted, _Altezza_.” Giovanni pointed out, though he raised both his palms in a gesture of mock surrender.  “And as it turns out, what I saw then as a possible opportunity to get rid of a potential thorn in Monteriggioni’s side backfired fairly spectacularly.”

“ _So_ nice of you to come clean on your motives, Giovanni.”

“We were both looking to use each other,” Giovanni shot back.  “And since it appears that I will now be bound to you for the rest of your life, and that I would myself starve to death upon the end of your relatively short existence, I think my impulse has been amply repaid.”

Lorenzo sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes.  “And Leonardo is of the opinion that this cannot be reversed?”

“I put the question to him and he said he would look into it.  If he truly would,” Giovanni added, with a curl to his lip.  “He is very loyal to you.”

“What do you want from me, a letter to Leonardo stamped with my seal?” Lorenzo demanded, weary and irritable.  “Draft it and I will sign it, if you want.  Or you could take a look in my head.  Whatever it is that you prefer, I am tired, so make it quick.”

“Ah,” Giovanni said, startled, as though he had not noticed how exhausted Lorenzo likely looked.  “ _Mi dispiace_ , then we should speak another time.”

“Just finish your business and get out.”

Giovanni had the grace to appear a little embarrassed.  “I was hoping that you would be able to spare a little… but if you are weary…”

“As long as it is quick.”  Lorenzo made as if to draw the silver blade over his palm, but Giovanni was abruptly before him, pulling the knife away and dropping it on the ground.  Before Lorenzo could snap at him, the vampire was nuzzling his palm, purring again, deeper now, slow, and Lorenzo pulled back his sleeve to expose his arm.  “Not there.”

“ _Bene_ ,” Giovanni slurred, kneeling, and Lorenzo grunted as he felt teeth press into his skin, leaning forward to support his weight with a hand on Giovanni’s shoulders.  The vampire _moaned_ , one hand clutched over Lorenzo’s hip, the other holding his arm still, throat working as he drank.

“Enough,” Lorenzo commanded, when he felt himself begin to weaken, and Giovanni obeyed, if with a low whine of protest, licking at the wound hopefully until it was clean and closed.  Lorenzo drew back, uttering an oath as he stumbled, and in an instant Giovanni was beside him, an arm around his waist to arrest his fall.  “Help me to the bed.”

In hindsight, Lorenzo probably should have turned wary when Giovanni only purred in response, easily supporting his weight as he drew Lorenzo’s arm around his shoulder and half pulled, half carried the _Duce_ towards the inner chambers, lowering him onto the sheets, then climbing on after him, leaning down to pin Lorenzo down with his greater weight and nuzzling the very first scar on Lorenzo’s neck, the purr turning into soft, gasping moans.

“ _Giovanni_ ,” Lorenzo said, breathless, then cleared his throat and growled, pushing at Giovanni’s shoulders.  Giovanni whined again, rasping his tongue over the scar and settling between Lorenzo’s legs, pressing the hard curve of his arousal against Lorenzo’s right inner thigh.

“Hungry,” Giovanni moaned, when Lorenzo swore at him and pushed at his shoulders.  “ _Per favore_ , Lorenzo.”

“I think you have had enough,” Lorenzo growled, then shuddered and leaned up instead as Giovanni nipped up his neck, without breaking the skin, then licked back down to the scar hopefully.  “ _Giovanni_ ,” he hissed, indignant, when Giovanni pushed long, cool fingers under the nightshirt and stroked up his thighs, “St… _aah_ -” The vampire grinned as Lorenzo arched into his grasp despite himself, his grip confident and firm, stroking him teasingly slowly.  “You are going to… _ngh_ … regret this when you are lucid.”

“What makes you think I am not?” Giovanni shot back, if shallowly, arching up as if to shift down, and Lorenzo hastily cupped his hand up over the back of the vampire’s neck.

“You are _not_ going to put your fangs anywhere down _there_.”

“ _Bene_ ,” Giovanni said, though he seemed amused, leaning down to lap again at the scar on his neck.  “ _Per favore_ , a little more? I will make it good for you as well, I promise.”

“Very well,” Lorenzo said, relenting in the face of the note of desperate pleading in Giovanni’s tone, “But not on-”

Giovanni already bit down, with a muffled moan of ecstasy, his fingers stilling over Lorenzo’s flesh and only squeezing again when the _Duce_ growled and bucked insistently into his grasp, digging his nails into Giovanni’s shoulders.  Giovanni shifted his weight onto his free hand, his eyes fluttering closed against Lorenzo’s neck, then ecstasy hit in a sharp _spike_ that had Lorenzo letting out an undignified, hoarse cry, arching up into Giovanni’s mouth and locking his fingers in the vampire’s thick hair.

When he managed to blink away the spots from his vision and recover his breath, Giovanni was lying beside him, on his flank, looking self-satisfied.  When he noticed Lorenzo staring, the vampire smirked, and began to lap his soiled hand clean, deliberate, and darkly seductive.  _Cristo_.   “Next time, let me use my mouth, _Altezza_.”

Heat climbed to his cheeks, but Lorenzo managed to find his voice.  “I suggest you leave before Malik discovers you in the morning.”

“You allow your hunter to see you in such a state of undress?” Giovanni said, with a mock scowl.  “I could be jealous."

“Get _out_ , Giovanni.”


	11. Chapter 11

I

 

Rebecca’s hand darted for her dagger, even as Lucy reached for her crossbow, when Ezio abruptly stepped out of the shadows under the stairwell, his expression stormy with banked fury.  Leonardo was oblivious, his back turned, bent over the workbench and muttering to himself as he sketched furiously over his book.  Ezio stalked towards him with the inexorable menace of an approaching tempest, ignoring Rebecca as she closed her fingers tightly over her dagger and stepped forward into his way. 

“Ah, Ezio,” Leonardo said, without looking up from his sketchbook.  “You came at the right time.”

“I did?” Ezio asked, blinking.

“He did?” Lucy echoed, skeptical.

“Oh yes.  Vampires can change shape, and I need an anatomical reference,” Leonardo tapped at the table next to his book.  “I need a bird.  An albatross, perhaps, something with a large wingspan and long primary feathers, a gliding bird.”

Ezio stared at Leonardo’s back, anger warring with bewilderment, then he grit his teeth and flowed into shadow.  An eagle hopped up onto the table beside Leonardo, its feathers chocolate brown, its eyes a wild orange, and it clacked its fierce beak together menacingly. 

“Good, good.  Now, if I could trouble you to hold out the wing, like this,” Untroubled, Leonardo gently tugged the large wing open, peering over the underside and tracing the quills, pressing carefully over the joints and the delicate flight bones.  “Yes, like so.  Now hold still, _per favore_.”

Rebecca relaxed back into her chair and the borrowed book, grinning, and even Lucy seemed to be hiding a smile.  Somehow, despite being eagle-shaped, Ezio managed to appear long-suffering, and more importantly, the vampire’s air of angry grievance seemed to ebb. 

“I had always thought of flight.  It must be incredible up in the sky,” Leonardo mused, his pencil scratching furiously over paper in the light of candelabra.  “A flying machine, perhaps, a glider, like a gliding bird, large wingspan, high vantage point, strong winds.  It might not maintain height.  Big, gliding birds ride updrafts and currents.  A flying machine that glides… or perhaps if there was a way to move the wings such that they flap… hm.”

Ezio glanced at Rebecca, as though disbelievingly, and she shrugged at him.  “He’s always like this in his free time.”

“If everyone could fly, I think wars would end,” Leonardo added happily, as though Rebecca hadn’t spoken.  “The world would be small up from above, borders would be invisible, everyone will be one and the same, only the earth beneath them, beautiful and unified.”

Ezio shook his head vehemently, snapping his beak and shaking his other wing, and Leonardo sighed.  “No, I suppose not.  It was just a thought.  Could you become another type of bird? A duck, perhaps?” Ezio squawked, indignant.  “One of the hovering ones, then, a hummingbird.” The eagle shook his head vehemently.  “Oh, very well, a bat.  Surely a vampire can become a bat? I need to compare wing structure.”

The eagle became shadow, and then seemed to shrink, becoming a smaller, fluffy fruit bat, which held out one of its wings with an air of impatience.  Leonardo examined the wing with great interest, running thumbs over the bones and stroking the leather between his fingers.  “Remarkable.  You see, Rebecca, having Ezio around has its benefits.”

“I don’t think this was what Mario had in mind when he mentioned servitude,” Lucy said dryly, from the couch.  Her leg was healing slowly, but she could move around on crutches now, if with some effort. 

“Nonsense.  What he was proposing was slavery, which is barbaric and unnecessary.” Leonardo nudged Ezio by the shoulder until the bat turned around and lifted his other wing.  “I have no use for a bodyguard, I have the both of you, after all, and I do not require servants.  So Ezio can live his own life, and I will live mine, and when the _Duce_ has other instructions for me then we will work it out from there.” Ezio shook his wings at Leonardo, irritated, hissing and chittering, and Leonardo waved his pencil absently at him.  “There is no need for argument, my mind is quite decided.  And hold still, _per favore_.”

“What about blood?” Lucy asked, suspicious.  “Won’t Mario ask difficult questions when Ezio shows up to drink as he would normally?”

“Between the three of us-”

“I am _not_ about to provide _any_ blood to a _vampire_ ,” Lucy interjected firmly, and stared back at Leonardo evenly even when he raised his head with a beseeching, puppyish expression.  “ _No_ , Leonardo.”

“Ah, well, then it looks like we may have to leave Monteriggioni if Mario has some sort of objection to Ezio being fed,” Leonardo said heavily.  “Although it seems from the last missive that Firenze has at least three vampires at present already, Federico, Kadar and a fledgling, Desmond.  Giovanni’s condition does not allow him to take blood from anyone but the _Duce_.  So there may not be much supply there either.”

Ezio made a squeaking sound, and Leonardo sighed.  “I suppose you could just approach Mario afterwards anyway, it is not as though you have much to lose by doing so.  The sentence has already been meted out after all, and it did not mention blood… even if I still find your rules remarkably inflexible.  Can you turn into a fish? No? Well, another bird of your choice, then, of a different _genus_ than an eagle… good, good.” Now a raven, Ezio shook himself out and settled on the table, spreading out a wing, this time without being told.

“Ezio’s a big boy.  He can solve it himself.” Rebecca said, unconcerned. “More importantly, Jacopo is still at large.  And just out of curiosity, I always thought that you had to shift from shape to shape, not direct from shadow.”

“We didn’t come here to hunt truebloods, Rebecca,” Lucy said dryly.  “Little out of our league there.  Shapeshifting, travelling, they can bend a lot of rules.  Besides, how are you going to find a trueblood in the middle of so much territory? Better to leave it to the ones that own the territory in the first place.”

“As if they’re doing such a great job.” The raven snapped his beak at her. “Yeah, you know it.”

“Jacopo might already have left the area.  Francesco died, after all.” Leonardo said soothingly.  “Perhaps they will cut their losses.”

“Perhaps the sky will turn green,” Rebecca shot back.  “We’ve gotten Vieri and Francesco.  I don’t think the Pazzi will rest until they’ve had their revenge.  And Jacopo is known to be the cunning one.  I’m sure he’s cooking something else up right now.”

“It was a very elaborate trap, the one he set for Ezio,” Lucy mused, frowning.  “I still can’t really see the beginning and the end of it.”

“He likely wants to break the alliance,” Leonardo shrugged, gently pushing the raven’s wing up and wider.  “Have one of the Auditore murder Lorenzo’s diplomat.  I think that is why he went to so much trouble to leave the bell rope where it was, where I would notice it.  He simply did not count for Ezio being able to stop.”

“You mean he didn’t think that Ezio would be allergic to your brain,” Rebecca drawled, and at the table, Ezio rocked back on his claws, as though amused or taken aback.  “It’s far fetched.  What if you _hadn’t_ been allowed out of Monteriggioni?”

“Ah well, then Ezio would have starved to death, or murdered a clansman and killed by his own family,” Leonardo said soberly.  “We are dealing with a perverse mind, with Jacopo.”

“What are you going to do next, Leonardo?” Lucy asked, wary.

“Mario asked me to help with the fortifications, so I will.  As to Ezio, I suppose Mario will give some indication,” Leonardo said vaguely.  “I think the _Duce_ and the others still intend to invade Venezia, so there may be some work to be done there.  Ezio, can you change into insects? A butterfly, perhaps?” The raven shook its head, with a glare.  “Pigeon? Sparrow? No?”

The raven became a blackbird with bright orange eyes, ink-black feathers drooping in sulky exasperation, then Ezio peered over at Leonardo’s work and hopped onto his sleeve to get a better look, chirping.  “Oh, this is only a hobby,” Leonardo said, distracted.  “The _Duce_ has other uses for me after all.”

“Why is it that you can understand him?” Rebecca asked, amused. 

“Why would I not?” Leonardo returned, sounding puzzled that she had even asked, sketching with his left hand, adjusting the wing again with his right, then absently scratching under the blackbird’s chin when the bird hopped off his wrist.  Ezio’s wings flipped shut, as he relaxed with a chirp, then when Rebecca let out a startled laugh, he backpedaled backwards with a squawk and pecked Leonardo.  “ _Ezio_ ,” Leonardo remonstrated, though his tone was distracted, his attention still on his work.

Rebecca rolled to her feet to take a look, curious.  Leonardo had already filled three pages with what he termed ‘rough sketches’ and what normal people considered ‘works of art’, and Ezio’s impatience and ire seemed to have been forgotten, the blackbird hopping about as it peered at the sketches with undisguised fascination, even climbing up to Leonardo’s shoulder.

Grinning to herself, Rebecca waved briefly at a surprised Lucy, then sidled out of the workshop for some air.  Besides, she wanted to sniff out what Mario and his _condottieri_ had learned so far about Jacopo.

 

II

 

Lorenzo appeared pale and tired despite the threads of honey gold from the morning sun woven through the arched windows of his office marking time, and Malik frowned, looking his employer sharply over, checking for injuries.  He had ensured that Lorenzo had returned to the palazzo last night with trusted hunters, and had put a watch on his door.  Perhaps it was just the growing toll from the past few days.

"I need you to get into contact with _La Volpe_ ," Lorenzo began by saying, pushing a handwritten report towards Malik across the table.  "Galeo has informed me that he has returned from the Continent."

" _La Volpe_?" The Immortal's diplomatic relations with the Medici were widely known to be frosty at best, borderline hostile at worst, depending on the cantankerous old man's mood.  Perhaps due to his apparently considerable age, or due to some sort of tragedy in his undoubtedly long and spotted past, _La Volpe_ could be prone to dark swings of intense suspicion, and like many of the hunters under Lorenzo's employ, Malik had borne the brunt of the Immortal's outbursts more than once. 

"I think you are the only one I know - other than Leonardo, who will be in Monteriggioni for the near future - whom he will be willing to speak to in a civilized fashion," Lorenzo said dryly.  "I need you to offer him a favor or so on my behalf."

" _La Volpe_ asks for very expensive favors, _Altezza_ ," Malik said flatly.  "If you recall."

"I do recall," Lorenzo snapped, his eyes tight from weariness, then he moderated his tone as Malik stiffened.  "Giovanni was in the palazzo last night.  He took the form of a cat and tricked his way in.  I've ordered him out," Lorenzo added, as Malik bared his teeth in growing anger, "But I need you to ask _La Volpe_ , nicely, to undo the invitation."

Malik should have known; after all, there would be no other reason why Lorenzo would be willing to bargain with the old thief.  Of all the men and women whom he had ever met with regards to the vampires, from the invited scholars of the Ottoman to the scribes in Syria, _La_ _Volpe_ was the only man who had ever been able to revoke a vampire's invitation. 

The secret to this was kept jealously guarded by the old man, and no small wonder - it meant that he was at the same time the most sought after man by freehold humans, as well as the vampires, if for different reasons.  The Immortal was foremost of all a thief and as such a dishonest scoundrel, and Malik disliked him intensely out of principle.  For some reason, this only amused the old man. 

"Very well.  And I will speak with your staff to ensure that this does not occur again."

Lorenzo nodded, rubbing his palm over his eyes.  "Also, I need you to ask the Immortal if there is a way to reverse my current... situation."

Malik scowled.  "If _he_ is taking more than you can give-"

"I think Giovanni has been careful on that part.  But I do not wish this situation to continue indefinitely, I think.  Despite its political expediency." Lorenzo added wearily.  "Once we have Venezia we will not need so... close a tie with the Auditore, and if we can break it, perhaps that will be a good bargaining chip in and of itself."

"I understand, _Altezza_." Malik said cautiously.  He would have to admit to feeling a thread of relief, despite the power that control over the Auditore patriarch represented.  Giovanni had already proven himself wily when he wanted something.  Malik didn't doubt that if the old vampire truly wanted to, he could likely find a way to circumvent the power imbalance.  "What are you willing to offer?"

"You have discretion." A ghost of a smile fled briefly over Lorenzo's thinned mouth.  "Do try not to annoy him, _per favore._ "

"I will _try_."

"He was last seen at the thieves' haunt in the eastern quarter of Firenze, that disreputable inn known as-"

"The Baldric, yes."

"An Immortal seems to be an old man, and old men have their habits," Lorenzo picked up another report.  "Go.  If possible, I would like the security breach fixed before sundown."

"Old men also dislike being rushed," Malik warned, though he turned to leave.  He paused briefly at the door, looking back over his shoulder.  "By the way... did you hear anything from Altaïr?"

Lorenzo looked surprised.  "No.  Were you expecting a report?"

"From him? I suppose that would have been unlikely." Malik tried his best to sound unconcerned, despite a restless night spent with a lingering sense of what he could only describe as unfulfilled duty.  A small part of Malik wanted to be on the chase, with Altaïr (like old times, another, softer voice whispered). He told himself he didn't care whether Altaïr survived his battle with Robert, but they did need all the help they could get for Kadar to be freed.

Lorenzo tapped the tip of his quill against his mouth, his eyes narrowed slightly.  "I could get Ezio or Federico to follow him, if you wished.  The matter of your brother-"

"My brother is beyond aid now.  What he was before is already dead; the Syrians believe that now, a demon is what is left, inhabiting his shell," Malik interrupted, looking away before he could betray himself to Lorenzo’s famous intuitive perception.  "Ezio is needed to protect Leonardo and Federico must restrain the fledglings.  We cannot spare anyone, not with the push that we are about to make."

 

III

 

"Malik al-Sayf," _La Volpe_ smiled with only his mouth when a pair of lean, weather-beaten men in ragged clothes and dull green sashes ushered Malik into the back room of the filthy, poorly lit inn.  The stink of stale straw and spilled beer was underlain by an acrid hint of human waste from the latrines beyond, and Malik tried not to breathe in too deeply even as he settled into the least grimy looking stool at a smooth wooden counter.   

Large, oil-stained barrels of beer lined the cracked walls, mostly untapped, and the default master of the establishment, the Immortal, sat in an easy sprawl leaning against the cured wood of a barrel, arms folded, wearing his imitable cowl and leather armor in muted shades of earth.  Brilliant lavender eyes watched him with a calculated intensity from under the shadows of the old thief's hood.

" _Messer_." Malik inclined his head in return, suddenly unsure how to start.

Thankfully, _La Volpe_ provided the opening.  "Are you here on Lorenzo's business or your own?"

"Both."

The Immortal leaned forward, pressing his elbows on the dubious counter, his eyes narrowed with a faint hint of malice.  "Your master found its latest hound too difficult to leash?"

"He has given me the discretion to-"

"I know he has, that is obvious enough by your presence here," _La Volpe_ said, with a touch of impatience. 

"Lord Lorenzo has two questions," Malik said, gritting his teeth, reminding himself to be polite for Lorenzo’s sake.  "One, whether the blood dependency between a bonded vampire and its host human can be severed safely to both parties.  Two, if you would be so kind as to come by the palazzo de' Medici and revoke Giovanni Auditore's invitation."

 _La Volpe_ smirked.  "So _il Magnifico_ has been careless.  How unfortunate."

Malik stifled his instinctive retort and waited, thin-lipped.  Eventually, the Immortal slouched back further, tapping fingers absently on his knee.  "I want information in exchange.  One, whether Leonardo is currently afflicted by the same... problem as Lorenzo.  Two, I want to know what it is that has brought all these truebloods to Italia."

Malik gave the old thief's queries some thought.  Compared to the favors that Lorenzo was asking for, his questions seemed simple enough.  Choosing his answers carefully, Malik responded, "To our knowledge, Leonardo is unaffected.  Ezio can still take blood from his bondsmen.  As to your second question, we believe it is likely some sort of artefact in Roma."

"Ah," _La Volpe_ said, as though satisfied, and steepled his fingers before his sharp nose.  "Then, to your master's questions, yes, the blood dependency can be severed safely if done so early, and secondly, I would be pleased to assist him with the revocation."

That seemed easy enough.  Malik let out a breath of relief, then added, frowning, "What do you mean, 'done so early'? How early?"

"It depends.  In my experience," _La Volpe_ said ponderously, "Before the afflicted vampire develops a psychological dependence on its host.  The period varies.  Has Giovanni exhibited any sort of... possessiveness, perhaps, or overt affection?"

"I will need to ask Lorenzo," Malik said, keeping his tone neutral, though a bitter disappointment soured his mood further.  Lorenzo was not going to like this answer, and judging from the lazy smile playing on the Immortal’s lips, _La Volpe_ had already known it to be futile.  "What is the procedure like?"

"Sometimes the afflicted vampire can be weaned slowly away from the host's blood, with a few tricks and some drugs to assist the 'procedure'," the old thief's response had a vein of mockery in it that Malik had to clench his fists under the counter to ignore.  "It works if its sense of self has not already been irrevocably entwined with its host."

"If the procedure fails?"

"It is very messy," _La Volpe_ said carelessly.  "I have seen cases where both parties died.  Or the vampire dies, and the human goes insane.  Or the human dies, and the vampire goes berserk, in the worst case scenario, particularly where a vampire as strong as Giovanni would be concerned."

"I thought that Lord Lorenzo's case was unique, an adult human surviving a bite."

"Unique for Italia, perhaps.  Italia is not the world, however, perhaps despite the opinion of _il Magnifico_.  In the Orient, for example, where freehold humans have been gaining the advantage over truebloods due to the sheer numerical imbalance, there are very strict edicts on what they term 'unification', with rituals and old practices in place to address unauthorized or accidental unifications.  Also, on occasion, before more stringent selection processes fell into place early this century, there were some unions that were later disapproved by the Ottoman Council and set aside.  It is rare, but I am usually called in as a consultant when it does happen."

"I see." Malik would have to think it over, try to anticipate Lorenzo's reaction.  The Duce was unlikely to attempt anything rash, but he was growing increasingly tolerant of late, what with inviting two still shackled fledglings to the Hunter quarters and not bothering to clean up his increasingly messy ties to the Auditore.  "Thank you for the information."

"I have a little vested interest in Firenze and Venezia," _La Volpe_ said idly.  "But Roma is my preferred hunting ground.  The vampires are restless there, at present, and the truebloods have broken up the Centra district into barely harmonious factions.  The newcomers have brought more thralls.  Centra is no longer a good place for any human - or Immortal - with a modicum of free will.  It is my hope that once the Duce has his shipyards, that he would turn his eye to Roma."

"I will express that opinion to Lorenzo." Privately, Malik felt that occupying water-laced Venezia was one thing, but going up against the combined might of at least three trueblood families was another, Auditore family alliance or not.

"Do so.  And do inform me if you happen to learn of whatever it is that they are seeking in Roma.  Just as I will inform you if I learn anything.  Our goals do not entirely align, I think," the Immortal drawled, "But I too, have no real fondness for the children of the Lilim."


	12. Chapter 12

I

 

Lorenzo permitted himself a smirk at the sudden squawk of outrage from the window and the desperately scrabbling noise that followed afterwards. He finished reading the report on hand, unhurriedly, then shuffled it on his desk and headed for the courtyard, nodding at the hunters who fell automatically into place beside him.

Giovanni was already lounging under a spreading ash, dignity intact, though his eyes were hard. " _Altezza. Buona sera._ "

"Giovanni."

"Was that truly necessary?"

"Yes. And I would prefer if I did not have to instruct you not to trick your way into my house again."

"So the Immortal is back in Firenze." Giovanni's lip curled. "Perhaps I should pay him a visit."

"I have something else for you to do," Lorenzo retorted brusquely, though he would if pressed admit to a certain curiosity to such a showdown. The Immortal was what Malik termed a _magus_ \- apparently common in Syria and the Orient, but not in the rest of the world. Lorenzo had never received any reports of _La Volpe_ facing up against a vampire, let alone a trueblood. A battle would be... interesting. "I need Federico to follow Altaïr."

"You would send him against Robert de Sable."

"I received a missive from Altaïr via one of our outposts an hour ago. He has asked us for a diversion."

Giovanni mulled this over, orange eyes turning distant, and then he asked, curtly, "Which outpost?"

The old vampire was very sharp. "Roma."

"And you are certain that it is from Altaïr."

"I am certain that it is from the _outpost_." Leonardo's encryptions would be impossible to break without the cipher papers.

"But just in case it is not, you want to send one of my sons."

"Roma's outpost is our most dangerous posting, due to its proximity to the Borgia." Lorenzo shot back. "I want it destroyed if it has been compromised. Malik believes Altaïr capable of strategy and reasoning, but I am not so sure, in his current state. Asking for aid seems a little unusual, for a solitary, made vampire that traveled all this way to Italia on its own without seeking allies. And no one would have told him how to find the outpost."

"And you want me to control Kadar and Desmond in Federico's absence."

"I want you to watch them. Restrain them, if necessary." Lorenzo hesitated. "Though, your son did mention that there might be some sort of... difficulty."

"You want to restrain them? Silver chains, with stakes driven through their wrists or ankles. Preferably both." Giovanni said dismissively, and his tone seemed colder. "Or that coffin that Ezio was found in."

"Kadar is Malik's brother," Lorenzo said, surprised at Giovanni’s brutal solution, but he schooled himself carefully.

Of _course_ Giovanni would have little concern for vampires outside of his family; besides, he _had_ on occasion displayed an odd sort of territorial aggressiveness towards other vampires. Lorenzo had thought it amusing at first, but now, in the wake of the Immortal’s advice, it was a sobering fact. Giovanni was already too far gone, in the old thief’s opinion. Leonardo perhaps might have had further advice, but Lorenzo had no doubt that the diplomat would likely recommend strongly that he refrain from the attempt.

"And a vampire."

"If there is a problem," Lorenzo snapped, his patience with Giovanni's odd mood fraying, "Then tell me."

Giovanni regarded him silently for a long moment, and then he folded his arms. "If you sent someone to speak with the Immortal, you must have asked him about our situation."

"I did."

"And?"

"Neither of us would like the answer."

"So it is not possible."

"It is. But it is not possible to sever the... the 'unification' safely. Not when a strong dependency has already developed. One of us may die, or both, or live and lose our minds." Lorenzo exhaled. “Were it just a risk on my end, I would be willing to try. But I hope you understand when I tell you that I cannot risk a vampire as old as you going berserk in Firenze.”

Giovanni sighed - it was a soft, harsh sound of defeat. "So I had thought."

"Giovanni-"

"We will discuss it afterwards," Giovanni interjected, with a significant glance at the two hunters standing as unobtrusively as possible behind Lorenzo.

"Then, about Roma?"

"I will go."

"You cannot," Lorenzo said, surprised. "You are hardly at full strength, and you will be facing at the least one other trueblood."

"I am far older than Robert, Lorenzo," Giovanni said, though his orange eyes flickered briefly. "And even as I am now, I assure you that I am stronger than Federico."

"But-"

"Dependency works both ways, _Altezza_." Giovanni said, and there was something of tired, iron satisfaction in his tone. "I will go."

"I could tell you not to," Lorenzo warned, unnerved by the very suggestion. Certainly the sudden flare of concern had been surprising even to himself. Giovanni was a pawn – granted, the strongest one in his arsenal at present – but he would need to be used wisely. Objectively.

"My dear Duce," Giovanni said, with mock tenderness, "Allow me to disabuse you of a misunderstanding. It is true that you can command me, but only if you can voice that selfsame command. That much I have learned after last night. As such, should you ever move against my family, or make commands that I believe will be an untoward risk to my loved ones, I can and _will_ find a way to kill you, Hell take the consequences. Do we have an understanding?"

Lorenzo supposed that such an ‘understanding’ was only a matter of time. A vampire as old as Giovanni could not have survived for so long in Italia without being able to work around seemingly impossible problems, after all, and he had no doubt that Giovanni was being brutally sincere in his threat. At the same time, Lorenzo knew also that should he decide to save his own pride and try to undermine Giovanni’s with a harsh response, the vampire could proceed to demonstrate a bypass. It was not unworkable, re-establishing dominance, but Roma’s problem was calling, and Lorenzo could ill afford internal strife if the outpost had truly been compromised.

Raising a hand sharply as the hunters behind him muttered angrily to themselves and hefted their weapons, Lorenzo grit out, "We do."

"Then," Giovanni bowed, with arch politeness. "With your leave, _Altezza_."

"Go to Roma, Giovanni. Destroy the outpost if it is compromised. It is under the Coliseum, the entrance is through an aqueduct. But before you move on Robert, or the others, report first back to me." Lorenzo grimly held Giovanni's steady, orange stare, and the vampire was the first to look away, shadows boiling beneath his feet, then an eagle was winging up into the night sky, rending the evening's peace with a shrill shriek of defiance.

It occurred rather belatedly to Lorenzo that he had not pressed Giovanni on his difficulty in the matter of restraining the fledglings.

 

II

 

Ezio was watching Leonardo paint, this time in the form of a sparrow (after much cajoling and flattery on Leonardo’s part) perched on Leonardo's easel, when shouts of alarm from the outside jerked Lucy's head up from her book and roused Rebecca from her doze curled in a cushioned chair in the sun.

Instantly, Ezio was human-shaped, looking around sharply; shadows curled protectively around Leonardo's feet, and the vampire had pressed his right hand against the diplomat's back, nearly at Leonardo’s waist. Lucy shot the tendrils, then Ezio’s splayed fingers, startled looks, but Rebecca grinned impishly even as she rolled to her feet. It had been only a couple of days, and not only had Ezio's resentment disappeared, it seemed that he had warmed considerably to Leonardo's sunny nature. Despite first appearances, it was clear that malice was not in the spoiled trueblood’s disposition; his temper had long cooled.

"Rebecca, _per favore_ , could you investigate?" Leonardo said, frowning, and Rebecca nodded, heading quickly for the door, slipping out without opening it any more than necessary, so as not to let any direct sunlight into the workshop.

It took her only moments to find one of the _condottieri_ \- one of the guards was already striding towards them purposefully. "Signorina Rebecca," he said, once he walked into a respectful distance. Behind him, _condottieri_ were herding villagers into their homes, and taking up defensive positions on the ramparts. A scouting party was already assembling under the gate, horses whickering and stamping in impatience, affected by their riders’ anxieties.

"What happened? Is it Jacopo?"

The guard nodded towards the workshop. "If I may, _signorina_? I need to report to _Messer_ Ezio as well as to _signore_ Leonardo." Rebecca nodded, striding briskly back towards the workshop.

Once inside, Ezio frowned at the guard as he closed the door. "Angelo?"

"We are under attack, _Messer_ ," Angelo said, after a quick, polite bow. "Marcela has been overwhelmed."

Leonardo inhaled sharply, and Rebecca blinked. Marcela was a border town belonging to the Auditore, on the east, just a mile between Auditore territory and the N'drangheta family.

"By thralls?" Ezio demanded, incredulous. "Marcela is fortified!"

"By mercenaries. An army, with siege weapons. The town has been razed."

"Were there any survivors, then?" Ezio’s orange eyes narrowed.

"We are not sure. The messenger bird has only just reached us. It appears that previous messengers may have been intercepted, somehow."

Ezio bared his teeth, hissing in fury, and Leonardo quickly put a hand on his arm. "Nothing can be done until dark, Ezio. Did the mercenaries identify themselves?"

"No. But the message mentioned that Michelotto was spotted at the head of the army."

"The Borgia." Leonardo frowned. "The east. The N'drangheta gave passage? Unusual. They favor neutrality and have historical grudges against the Borgia. A recent bargain, perhaps? Or a quarrel? Unlikely to be a quarrel, Michelotto should know that it would be insanity itself to attack a town between two hostile territories. A bargain, then."

"We have not had a quarrel with them for over a century," Ezio growled, though he sounded calmer. "Angelo, keep me informed. I will leave with my uncle when night falls and avenge our bondsmen."

Angelo coughed and looked discomfited. "Your uncle has express orders for you to remain with our, ah, guest, sir."

"What?" Ezio demanded, astonished. "But..."

"Federico and Giovanni are away. Your uncle will investigate." Leonardo deduced, "And no doubt he is concerned about your younger siblings."

"Lady Maria will accompany _Maestro_ Mario." Angelo added.

Somewhat to Rebecca's surprise, Ezio only relaxed. "Oh, very well then. If that is what Mario instructs I will abide by it."

Angelo bowed, respectfully deep, and left. Rebecca couldn't help herself. "Your _mother_?"

"She's the second oldest here," Lucy pointed out.

"Also," Leonardo added, if dreamily, as though recalling an old tidbit of information, "Centuries ago I believe the traditional vampire courtship involved combat. It is somewhat more civilized now, I think, since the truebloods are comparatively rare in Italia as compared to the rest of the Continent."

"Combat?" Rebecca repeated, feeling dense. “Courtship?”

"It is an eternal tie, meant to be made between equals." Leonardo said earnestly, with a glance at Ezio, who shrugged, restless and clearly distracted. “Trial by combat is not to the death in this case.”

"Oh." Lucy looked as surprised as Rebecca, and she blinked at Ezio. "Who won?"

"At that time? Mother did," Ezio said impatiently, as though this was of little consequence. "How is this relevant?"

Rebecca tried to line up the beautiful, graceful woman whom she had been introduced to with Giovanni Auditore's fearsome reputation. "Uh."

"Go out and find out more about the attacks, Rebecca," Leonardo sounded amused. “If you can, go with the scouting party. But please, return before dark. I will compose a message to Lorenzo."

“I am surprised that they would dare make a direct strike on Auditore territory,” Lucy said, frowning. “Even with Giovanni and Federico away.”

“Perhaps they think that Ezio is dead. In which case, you must be careful tonight,” Leonardo addressed Ezio soberly, seemingly not noticing that the vampire’s hand was now curled so-very-naturally around his waist. “The attacks may be a feint. Especially if the scouts return to advise that Michelotto’s men have all withdrawn back into N’drangheta territory. Likely they will mobilize to strike at another town in the morning, if they do not attack Monteriggioni itself tonight.”

“Then my uncle and my mother should not leave?” Ezio asked, seemingly off-balance by Leonardo’s quicksilver deductions.

“They will need to, to survey the damage, assist any civilians remaining, check your other towns. But you are helpless after sunrise. Either the attack is directed at me,” Leonardo stared at his easel, no longer looking at the painting upon it but beyond, at probabilities, “In which case Monteriggioni will be attacked, or it is directed at you, in which case they will continue to strike at your towns. Perhaps Lorenzo can spare men from Firenze.”

“They may be trying to delay our own strike at Venezia.” Lucy guessed.

“Or perhaps it is a feint in and of itself, to draw our attention away from something else.” Leonardo circled around to his bench, taking up pen and paper. “Lorenzo will need to be informed.” He hesitated as a thought struck him. “There is still ample time to sunset. Perhaps if I leave openly, with Rebecca, we can still draw away part or all of Michelotto’s forces.”

“ _Bad_ idea,” Rebecca said quickly, at the door, even as Ezio shook his head quickly and strode over to stand beside Leonardo again.

“We promised the Duce that you would be safe here.” Ezio said, gripping Leonardo’s shoulders. “And you will be.”

Leonardo blinked at him, as though taken aback, faint spots of color forming on his cheeks, then he pulled away and turned to his message. “We will see what Lorenzo prefers.”

 

III

 

Malik was riding hard for Monteriggioni, seething quietly at Lorenzo's order despite having bowed his head to its logic, with a company of the Duce’s personal guard behind him, when a bay horse cantered out from around a thickly wooded bend to draw pace with him. It was _La Volpe,_ instantly recognisable with his cowl and clothes in layered shades of earth, the gleam of his lavender eyes enigmatic as he drew close.

“I have no time for you, mage,” Malik growled, but the Immortal merely smirked.

“Trouble with the allied fief?”

“Trouble with the _Borgia_ ,” Malik corrected coldly, keeping his eyes on the road. It was going to be a few hours to nightfall, and if they valued their hides they would have to be in Monteriggioni or one of the fortified towns close to it by then.

“I have no fondness for the Borgia. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“Your 'assistance' does not often come cheaply. Leave. We did not ask you to be here, and the Auditore have no fondness for you either.”

“You'll not reach Monteriggioni before nightfall without my aid, my fractious little hunter,” _La Volpe_ said, his tone condescending. “So do reconsider your opinion.”

“So be it.”

“So stubborn,” _La Volpe_ seemed amused rather than annoyed, even as the pace of their horses seemed to take on an unnatural, fluid quality. Behind him, the Duce's guard gasped and exclaimed in shock as the landscape around them began to flow rapidly past. “Think of it as a token of trust.”

“Stop this!” Malik snarled, ever unnerved by the arcane, but his words were stolen by the sudden snap of icy wind that seemed to slice through him, making his horse buck and scream in fright. Uttering a harsh oath, he dug in his knees, fighting to keep his balance. Some of the Duce's guard were not so lucky, shrieking as they fell from their steeds and seemed to blur, disappearing into the sleeting landscape altogether, like feathers falling into an onrushing tide. “ _La Volpe!_ ”

The wind abruptly stopped, and they were milling under what looked like a late afternoon sun, in a walled courtyard of a fortified town, while around them, _condottieri_ shouted in alarm and readied their weapons. Malik ignored them, rounding on _La Volpe_ with an angry hiss. “Two men! I've lost two men to your black magic!”

“Hardly black magic, merely a parlour trick,” _La Volpe_ shrugged, unperturbed by both the chaos he had created and Malik's temper. “And your men are unharmed, should they be smart enough to ride back towards Firenze, they should reach its walls before nightfall.”

Thankfully, before the _condottieri_ became too fractious, there was a joyous cry of recognition to his left, and Malik turned to see Rebecca pushing her way through the armed circle of guards. “Malik! Malik! How the hell did you do that?”

“Rebecca.” Malik inclined his head, still concentrating on keeping astride, as his horse tossed its mane, eyes rolling and trembling, skittish still with fear.

“Oh. Him.” Rebecca had just pushed close enough to see _La Volpe_ , and she pursed her lips. “I thought you hated his ass.”

 _La Volpe_ arched an eyebrow, but Malik sighed, out aloud, dismounting. “We are currently embroiled in a misunderstanding.”

Still, the _condottieri_ remained suspicious, whispering between themselves, weapons drawn, up until Leonardo squeezed past, with a broad, friendly smile and a slap on Malik's back, inviting them all back to his temporary workshop for an update. Runners were dispatched to inform Mario Auditore at the villa, but it seemed for now that Leonardo's apparent familiarity with the infamous Immortal had turned the tense standoff into an uncomfortable, and perhaps temporary truce.

Inside the workshop, Malik bristled at the sight of Ezio Auditore, perched on the back of a chair like an ungainly, weightless bird, then blinked as the trueblood smiled warmly when Leonardo stepped into the room. Then Ezio frowned when Leonardo continued to talk animatedly with _La Volpe_ without acknowledging anyone else, in the Turkish tongue, with an apparent fluency, his fingers curling.

“ _Marhaba,_ Malik _.”_ Lucy's greeting dragged his attention away, and she smiled wearily, extending her uninjured hand for a firm handshake. Malik settled into a chair beside her, his hand going instinctively for the blade at his hip when Ezio hopped off his perch, stalking over to Leonardo to splay his right palm possessively on the small of his back.

A quick glance at Lucy, who shook her head slowly, then at Rebecca, who smiled mischievously, caused an uncomfortable feeling of dread to well up within him. “Leonardo.”

Leonardo reluctantly turned away from _La Volpe_ . “ _La Volpe_ was explaining spatial displacement to me, Malik. It is most fascinating. Apparently it involves a simultaneous rearrangement of the fabric of the-”

“Your wounded palm.”

“Oh, this.” Leonardo looked a little guilty as he held up his bandaged palm. “Ah, this is a necessary verisimilitude for the moment, old friend.”

“Hardly,” _La Volpe_ said, dismissively, allowing Ezio a brief stare, then back to Leonardo. “There is currently-”

Ezio growled, low and rumbling and unnatural, his teeth bared to show sharp canines. Leonardo blinked at him, as though startled, and _La Volpe_ smirked, though he stepped back judiciously into the sunlight beyond the door. “There are more ways than one to become bound to a human, trueblood pup. But perhaps we should speak again another time, Leonardo, when we have a little more privacy.”

“Where are you going?” Malik demanded, suspicious.

“As I told you, Al-Sayf, I have some bad blood with the Borgia. Perhaps for a time our interests may be aligned.”


	13. Chapter 13

I.

Altaïr had prowled about Roma with no avail for nearly two days, growing increasingly hungry, frustrated and annoyed, all to no effect. He wasn't even entirely sure if he had been spotted: Roma was tightly controlled by the Borgia and their allies, and thralls and husks were everywhere, along with lesser vampires. He had yet to see a trueblood, or even hide or hair of Robert, but perhaps it was only a matter of time.

Robert's encampment near Venezia had been suspiciously empty save of husks and thralls, and Altaïr had snuck in and fed guiltily on some of Robert's stores before following the clues he had found to Roma. Supposedly, Robert had briefly decamped in order to meet with some important personage for strategic reasons of some sort, but try as he might, Altaïr could not break the ciphers he had found to a sufficient amount to understand their full message.

So he had searched Roma, feeling hunted and ill-at-ease, and had found nothing. Perhaps if he could penetrate the tightly secure interior, the Vatican City, preferably, he might be able to find his quarry. 

Frowning, Altaïr perched high up in the shadows of a balcony of a terrace house, watching over the tightly guarded intersection that led towards the Coliseum. It would be easy enough to slip past, but what then? He would need to feed again soon, or he would start to make mistakes, deep within enemy territory. He had only come so far chasing a chance rumour that he had overheard the day before near the Aurelian Walls. 

Absorbed in his dilemma, Altaïr nearly missed the brief distortion of shadows at his feet - _nearly_. He leaped backwards, baring his teeth, bracer at the ready, then narrowed his eyes and stilled when Giovanni Auditore coalesced, glancing about himself with a brief, sharp gaze before settling on Altaïr. Altaïr did not relax - truebloods unsettled him, even one supposedly bound to the service of Malik's... employer: there was an alien purpose and intelligence to them all, and an insane strength of power.

" _Al salamu aleykom_ ," Giovanni noted formally, with a brief incline of his head. "Altaïr."

" _Wa alaykom el salam_ ," Altaïr replied in a mutter, warily. "What is your business here, trueblood?"

"I was sent on your tail," Giovanni lifted a shoulder lightly. "Apparently, you sent the Duce a message for help from the Roma outpost."

"I did no such thing," Altaïr frowned, surprised. 

"I thought as much," Giovanni agreed, with a faint, sharp grin that briefly bared his own teeth. "You do not seem to be the sort to ask for help." 

"So the outpost is compromised." Altaïr surmised. "That is not surprising. Robert de Sablé has come to Roma, he and a few other truebloods. Security has increased. They have a way of... finding intruders without even seeing them, I am not sure how. I think it may have to do with 'modified' made vampires, like Desmond."

Giovanni nodded gravely. "So I have found. I was tasked with destroying the compromised outpost, but I was detected on my way into the Coliseum, and felt it best to retreat first to observe the situation."

"Then they know that we are both here." It was not a good thought to entertain, and Altaïr grit his teeth. He would _not_ be captured again. To have sent the fake encrypted message to Lorenzo, the enemy must have known that Altaïr had been skulking about Roma since the beginning. "Where is this outpost?"

"Under the Coliseum, within an aqueduct."

Moving water. That was clever... if obvious. One of the first places that a thrall army would search. "How are you going to cross moving water-" Altaïr began, then he cut himself off. "Ah, your bond with the Duce."

Giovanni's eyes narrowed briefly, the shadows boiling briefly and restlessly at his feet, then the trueblood looked back over to the Coliseum. "There is another trueblood there. Perhaps the one whom you seek."

Altaïr nodded curtly. "Robert enjoys spectacle. He likes to set made vampires against beasts or thralls or more. Watch to see which get torn apart." Altaïr himself had been part of Robert's 'spectacles', far more than once. "I am unsurprised that he has commandeered the Coliseum to such an end."

Giovanni pursed his lips briefly. "Hn. Surrounded by his thralls, and perhaps close to other truebloods, in my current state it would be difficult to excise Robert in the seat of his power, and I have been told to report first to Lorenzo should I decide to do so."

By the brief scowl that crossed the trueblood's expression, Altaïr deduced that the bond - and a human's commands - was sitting as yet poorly on Giovanni's shoulders. Again, he was not surprised. It must be galling for a vampire as old and as powerful as Giovanni Auditore to have to submit to a human's will - and this Lorenzo de' Medici had to be either one of the bravest of men or the most foolish, to dare to master a trueblood. 

"Do you need to report before you destroy the outpost?"

"No-"

"So it is just a stricture about Robert?" 

Giovanni shrugged. "The Duce is concerned that I may be defeated, despite my assurances." 

Certainly it would be a waste if Giovanni were to die to Robert, Altaïr decided. If only because Lorenzo's so-very-convenient alliance with the Auditore might quickly fall apart, and destructively so, given that Lorenzo's trump card remained hidden in Monteriggioni. "If I can draw Robert away from the Coliseum, can you destroy the outpost quickly?" 

"It should not be difficult." Giovanni's tone was neutral: and indeed, Altaïr could not quite surmise very much at all that could hurt or slow down a trueblood save for another trueblood. "Assuming that you _can_ draw Robert away."

"Leave that to me," Altaïr retorted curtly, "And worry about your own plans." 

"Well then," Giovanni's smile was not in the least friendly, but it was not particularly hostile, either. "Safe hunting, Altaïr." 

Altaïr nodded sharply, and pushed himself into the eagle shape, launching himself up into the darkened sky, his mind calculating escape routes and ambush positions as he drove his wings higher.

II.

Federico, Desmond decided, was not really a bad sort. He was the first trueblood Desmond had met who seemed to be genuinely good-natured, with a sunny personality and a mellow patience. He seemed to be happy to answer questions from both Desmond and Kadar, even as they prowled the streets of Firenze, searching out the remnants of the Pazzi husks. Most had already been cleaned out, as far as Desmond was aware, but it had been obvious that the Medici hunters were uncomfortable with their presence about the headquarters.

"Shapeshifting is merely a sort of understanding, Desmond," Federico said cheerfully, even as he jumped from his human-shaped form into a great gray wolf, then back. "Remember, you are now a vampire - not a trueblood, but still a vampire. Flesh is a human concept. Vampires are more of a... elemental force, made flesh when they choose." 

"That makes even _less_ sense than what Kadar was trying to tell me," Desmond said accusingly.

"It is a matter of belief," Kadar offered diffidently, in his heavily accented Italian. "As I have said, I have grown up in, um, an Order that has been fighting the vampires for a long time. I have always known that vampires could shapeshift. Perhaps that is why once I was a vampire I also took it for granted that I could shapeshift."

"Or maybe whatever Vidic did to me in his labs made me stuck in one form," Desmond grumbled. It would only figure. 

"Ah," Federico began, perched high up on a shop sign, then leaping down with unnatural lightness of foot to a railing. "That too is a possibility." 

"Great."

"If that is the case," Kadar said comfortingly, "Then I am truly sorry, Desmond. But perhaps when your sire is killed, it will help."

"You're only saying that to make me feel better," Desmond muttered. "Shapeshifting seems to be the only upside of being undead, by my books."

"There is something to be said for the long lifespan," Federico disagreed, though his grin was amused rather than taunting, as he hopped and ran fleet-footed over the rail, then leaped up to a balcony and up further to the edge of a slate roof. "And your abilities are useful." 

"Maybe." Desmond refused to be comforted. 

"Besides," Federico jumped, landing neatly back on the cobblestones beside them, "With a little training, the form you have right now will also be formidable. You have seen Altaïr fight, I presume. Kadar has said that he is very good."

"I suppose," Desmond agreed doubtfully, "If he isn't facing one of your... er, a trueblood, he should do fine."

"There are ways around a trueblood's advantages," Federico said dismissively. "We are rather more... allergic to silver, for example. Malik stabbed you with silver, did he not? Yet here you are, walking about with us." 

"Surely you would have recovered from that," Kadar interposed, surprised. 

Federico shrugged. "Not so quickly. Silver wounds us far deeper. Perhaps it is also a question of belief, no? You remember being human, Desmond. You do not remember silver as a poison, not deep within your bones." 

"This is too complicated for me," Desmond protested. "I just want to be able to fly." 

"Oh, well, that is a side project for now," Federico said with cavalier dismissiveness. "While we are nearing a pack of husks, I think. Perhaps you should concentrate on honing your reflexes." 

"We _are_?" Desmond looked around wildly, even as Kadar blinked. 

"I can hear them shuffling about," Federico tapped at his ears. "There should be enough of them to be a challenge for you and _uccellino_ here, but not enough to be too dangerous. And I will intervene if it gets too dangerous, yes?"

"But I have no weapon," Desmond said helplessly. 

"You do not need one," Federico said meaningfully. "Not against husks." He leaped for a set of crates, then further up, to a sill, and higher, to a pipe, and up to the roof. "I'll keep watch up here." 

Desmond glanced over at Kadar, who shrugged at him, looking resigned. "Time to earn our keep?"

"First one to... ten?" Kadar volunteered, with a faint, shy smile.

"That's cheating. _You've_ had combat training. _I_ don't." 

"Oh," Kadar said vaguely, though his smile widened a little, "It is all a matter of not being hit." 

" _Thank you_ for that _insight_." 

There were about fifteen husks, milling about in a park, some tangled in shrubbery, and in the end, Desmond decided that he hadn't done _too_ badly. Federico had reappeared out of the shadows upon a tree branch once they were done, grinning broadly and looking far too amused for Desmond's comfort.

"We weren't _that_ horrible," Desmond said sourly.

"Oh, _uccellino_ was quite good," Federico agreed, leaping down and striding over to Kadar, kissing him briefly on the lips, though hard enough that the young fledgling blushed. "But you are... very bad."

"He did fine," Kadar mumbled, with an apologetic glance at Desmond. "I was trained in Masyaf." 

"As to that," Federico circled an arm around Kadar's back, "You fight like a human, when you should fight like a vampire. Use your strength, your speed. At least Desmond understands that and tries." 

"Old habits," Kadar murmured, his blush turning redder as he hung his head, clearly mortified. 

"It's practice. And confidence." Federico tipped up Kadar's chin with surprising gentleness. Embarrassed, Desmond quickly averted his eyes, scuffing through the husk remains, folding his hands into his pockets. 

"There may be more packs out there," Kadar said, a little breathlessly. "Um."

"Ah, yes, of course." Federico's tone was amused. "Come, Desmond. The night is still young. Perhaps you will be a trifle less terrible by the end of it."

Desmond sighed.

III.

Robert had followed him eagerly enough, as Altaïr had hoped, and with luck and some daring he had managed to fly fast enough and far enough that Robert was now the only hawk on his tail, speeding quickly over the scattered holdings and rolling fields and farms of the outskirts of Roma. Grimly, Altaïr hoped that Giovanni was using the diversion well, then put the problem out of his mind. He was here to fight and kill Robert, not worry over a trueblood.

Still, Robert was gaining on him, and Altaïr had to reach the ambush location he had thought of quickly-

There! The small cottage. Altaïr had spent the day within its dusty, abandoned confines before he had continued on towards Roma. The cottage was sturdily built, with few gaps that admitted sunlight, stone-wrought and with an oak door and shutters. It had long been looted, but the structure was old, and well-made. It would serve. 

He darted into the open shutters, the gray gyrhawk inches behind him, and shapeshifted in mid air, rolling and kicking. One heel caught Robert's hawk-farm squarely on the beak, knocking it sharply out of the air and heavily into the stone, then Altaïr was darting towards the window, closing and barring it tightly. Instantly, the room was flooded in dark shadows, even as the outraged squawk from the fallen bird turned into a gritty snarl, then a low, husky laugh that came from everywhere in the room at once. The trueblood had shifted its form. 

"Dear Altaïr," Robert purred, seemingly from behind his back. "Has your time with Lorenzo so addled your brains? In a small space like this, all in shadow, we truebloods are the kings of murder."

"I have not forgotten," Altaïr whispered, as he drew a pouch from his belt, stolen from a quick visit into Leonardo da Vinci's workshop in the hunters' headquarters. "And I am prepared." 

Gritting his teeth, he threw the glass sphere on the ground with all his might. It was a smoke bomb, but laced with silver powder - in the small expanse of the room it billowed fiercely upwards and outwards with a muffled explosion, even as Altair quickly clapped a glove over his face so as not to accidentally take in any of the floating powder. 

Around him, Robert started to scream. 

There was a pounding sound as shadows battered against the door, then the windows, then the screams seemed to focus, going from all about him to just one corner of the room, screams and choked gasps and curses and groans of pain. Altaïr smiled a wolfish smile behind his glove. Robert, like so many truebloods, was far too self-assured about his invincibility. Leonardo's notes about silver and the higher vulnerability of truebloods to silver's touch had been so _very_ useful.

He advanced, warily but with speed, and reached out in the gloom, grabbing a shoulder. Robert snarled, wrenching in his grip, but Altaïr's training had taken over - he pinned the trueblood firmly against the ground, wrenching his arm behind his back and using his knees to pin down Robert's legs. Choked with silver, Robert could not - hopefully - fade to shadow without exposing far more of himself to the silver, and as much as it burned Altaïr all over, the pain was bearable. Vengeance made it bearable. 

"For Kadar," Altaïr whispered, ignoring the burn in his throat and tongue as the powder entered his mouth, as he shoved the hidden blade high up between Robert's shoulder blades. "For Malik," he added roughly, as Robert shrieked and nearly twisted out of his grasp, stabbing again, higher up against the nape of Robert's neck. "And this, for _me_." 

The blade made a satisfying, wet crunching sound as he rammed it with all his strength through Robert's skull.

Giovanni arrived just as Altaïr had managed the strength to unbar the window and crawl out onto the grass, still choking and coughing, the skin of his face burning with pain, and the trueblood snorted, glancing between Altaïr, then the cottage. He circled over to the ancient rain barrel at the side of the cottage, picking it up with no apparent effort, then Altaïr yelped as he was doused with the sharply cold rain water.

"I have never known of a made vampire who could kill a trueblood," Giovanni said conversationally, when Altaïr stopped spluttering and gasping. "Remarkable."

Altaïr glowered at him, then lifted his gaze. Behind Giovanni, a thick plume of oily smoke was boiling in the horizon. "I take it that the outpost is destroyed."

"Thoroughly." Giovanni inclined his head. "And unfortunately, pursuit has begun, for I had not the time to attempt subtlety. Can you fly?"

"I must," Altaïr grit his teeth against the last of his pain, forcing himself into the change. 

The abrupt bath had washed off the worst of the powder, even if his throat still hurt and his eyes stung. His eagle form was worse - on top of his injuries, it ached all over from the desperate flight to the cottage, and was bedraggled and wet, but he still managed to force himself into the air, where he rode a draft, getting higher. Beside him, a great eagle with orange eyes banked effortlessly with a twitch of its wings, and together, they began to make their way back towards Firenze. 

Still, a cold triumph burned within him, even as the sight of Roma faded behind them as they rode the wind through the night. He had done it. He had killed his sire - his and Kadar's. Now Kadar was free, as well. He had regained his honour, avenged himself, avenged Kadar and Malik's wrongs.

Now, Altaïr decided, in the stillness in his mind, the first peace of thought that he had known since the foolishness that had gotten him turned, now he could ask Malik for forgiveness - and then the final death.


	14. Chapter 14

I.

"The existing fortifications are sound," Leonardo told Malik, as they surveyed the great stone walls that surrounded Monteriggioni, "But I am still in the middle of getting them improved. The foundry is not as advanced as that within my workshop in Firenze. Still, two of my new cannons should be in place by nightfall."

Malik nodded curtly, glancing out over the wide green lands, touched with the deep amber sunlight of the late afternoon. He had sent scouts out to the other towns - along with La Volpe, who had perhaps wisely decided to make himself scarce - and some had since returned with their lathered horses. No, the other towns were secure. Yes, Michelotto's forces were encamped still within Marcela. 

That struck Malik as rather insane. Surely Michelotto understood that by nightfall, the full vengeance of two old trueblood vampires would be unleashed upon them were they to remain so defiantly on the ashes of an Auditore township. Something was wrong, and he didn't like not knowing _what_.

"Mario and the Lady Maria are far older and wiser than we," Leonardo lowered his voice, his tone gentle. "They will not be rash."

"I know," Malik grumbled. "And with us fortifying Monteriggioni while they are away, they won't be overstretched. Still, I don't like it. The Borgia are arrogant bastards, but this is brash even for them."

"Hm," Leonardo ran one hand professionally over the heavy steel barrel of the cannon they were standing against. "Brash, you say?"

"Well," Malik said helplessly, "Michelotto is human. For the town to have been attacked in the day, it had to be a fully human attack force. The Borgia have fairly large bondsman armies."

"Ah," Leonardo raised a finger. "Why do you think that it is a fully human force?"

"Why," Malik pointed out with exasperation, "It attacked during the _day_ , with siege engines and such..." He trailed off, frowning. "You think that the Borgia are hidden within it somewhere. Away from the sunlight."

"I think that it would be _very_ strange that an army of bondsman, however highly placed, could have negotiated their way through N'drangheta territory." Leonardo replied mildly, tapping an absent-minded staccato on the metal. "I think that a full assault on the no doubt entrenched enemy forces in Marcela will be ill-advised. I think that before the Lady Maria and Mario attack Marcela, they should first ascertain what has become of the N'drangheta."

"Ascertain...! You don't think-" 

"I think that truebloods place blood feuds aside but rarely," Leonardo said quietly, "And the most damning - and disturbing - event to me was not so much the attack on Marcela but the fact that Michelotto's forces made it through the N'drangheta territories."

"This is a troubling thought, Leonardo," Malik leaned briefly against the cold stone of the battlements, suddenly weary. "I doubt that I can dissuade the Auditores from their vengeance, if that's what you want."

"What I want," Leonardo said earnestly, "Is for you to go with their army, Malik."

"Me? What can _I_ do?"

"You sell yourself short," Leonardo smiled wryly. "And besides, should you go with them, it's likely that La Volpe may be more inclined to follow." 

"But Monteriggioni has to be fortified-"

"You can leave your men here. And there will be three truebloods remaining."

"Three trueblood pups," Malik grumbled, though he nodded slowly. He could see the logic behind Leonardo's recommendations. If there was some sort of trap that had bested the N'drangheta truebloods, then La Volpe was likely their surest bet at countering it. 

Hopefully.

"And of course," Leonardo added, a little more uncomfortably, "I have finished a few... devices in my time here that may be of use to you, outside."

"Tested?" Malik asked warily.

"Not as yet, but their logic is sound, and I am confident."

Malik bit down on a groan. "I have heard that reasoning before."

"Oh," Leonardo looked briefly crestfallen, "That minor explosion was only a _once_ off incident. And no one was seriously hurt!" 

"I," Malik said, with as much dignity as he could muster, "Have nothing more to say to you on that matter." The 'minor explosion' had burned down part of one of the wings of the Medici Palazzo, and had been the reason why Leonardo's workshop had been banished to hunter headquarters.

He did, however, allow Leonardo to bustle about loading his latest infernal devices into a covered wagon, and explain its uses to the gathering crowd of _condottieri_. At the end of it, even Angelo looked openly impressed, and Leonardo had to be hustled away into his workshop before he could be talked into giving a demonstration in the cramped courtyard. Malik had no intention of accidentally blowing up the Auditore fort _before_ they were even attacked.

"I'll speak to Angelo," he told Leonardo at the doorway, "I'll leave most of the Duce's men here. You should be safe - I hope."

"Good luck," Leonardo said doubtfully, then impulsively grasped Malik's remaining hand, gripping it tight. "Safe journey." 

"Not for our enemies, I hope," Malik flashed Leonardo a sharp smile, with a confidence that he did not quite feel, and set off to look for the Captain of the _condottieri_.

II.

Leonardo had started to protest when Ezio had entered the bedchamber with him, but then had subsided abruptly at the growing sound of milling hooves. His mother's and uncle's forces were preparing to depart, then. Leonardo started to walk over to the window, only to stop when Ezio willed a curl of shadow to tug him back in place.

"Don't stand near the windows." Ezio said firmly. "Not for tonight. Rest. I'll be here."

"You need rest as well," Leonardo pointed out doubtfully.

"Not as much as a human." Ezio perched himself on the chair beside the writing desk, his senses stretched, ready for any intrusion. This time, he would not be found wanting. 

"I can't sleep with you in the room, Leonardo said helplessly.

"I can step into the shadows where you can't see me," Ezio shrugged. "Rest." 

Leonardo set his jaw briefly, then he sighed, and went through his ablutions with the provided basin and kit in a corner of the room. He was, Ezio observed, definitely the most beautiful human that Ezio had ever seen: slender, but still masculine, with a strength in his shoulders and arms that spoke of forge and foundry. His sandy blonde hair was bound at his neck with a haphazard ribbon, and his voluminous shirt was thin enough to hint at the hard curves of muscle in his flesh. Leonardo's beard was trimmed short, under his full mouth, and his beautiful, intelligent eyes were distracted again with some other logical problem.

Despite himself, Ezio felt interest stir within him, and briefly considered tamping it down - then defiantly decided not to suppress it. Annoying as it was at first, being cleaved to Leonardo did not seem so large a hardship: and it was far better than what he deserved, in any regard. Why not make it more pleasant for Leonardo?

He had thought Leonardo distracted, but when Ezio silently let himself off the chair and approached the human from behind, Leonardo half-turned to regard him, his expression innocently curious. "You do not have to be here," he repeated, as Leonardo washed his hands, "Surely you need to take charge of the fort."

"My sister has matters in hand," Ezio noted, "And she can call for me if she needs me." Teasingly, he pressed his palm to the small of Leonardo's back, stroking lightly, only for Leonardo to stiffen. Startled, Ezio dropped his palm, and Leonardo dried his hands before turning around, his expression gentle but firm. 

"Ezio," Leonardo said finally, in a careful tone. "Please leave the room. As you have said, I need to rest."

"I thought that you might like company." 

"Now is not the time."

" _Va bene,_ " Ezio said, not bothering to hide his disappointment, and Leonardo arched an eyebrow, even as he stepped away from Ezio towards his partly unpacked luggage, selecting a nightshirt. 

"I may be a guest, but I am a _human_ guest," Leonardo noted absently, even as he looked back up. 

"The Auditore have no restrictions on consensual associations with humans," Ezio frowned slightly. "If this is about what I said to you in the church-"

"No, no," Leonardo's smile was an odd creature, now, weary, wary, distant. "Not in the least."

"But you did... like me. I saw that much." Ezio retorted, daring Leonardo to deny it, but the smile did not falter. "I do not know if there are repercussions in Firenze or such, and do not care. You are not in Firenze."

"I think you may have mistaken an aesthetic appreciation for something more," Leonardo noted gently. "I am celibate."

Something of Ezio's shock must have shown - Leonardo's smile widened a fraction even as he turned away, back to his luggage. "That is the first I have heard of such a thing," Ezio said finally, astonished. "You feel no... no desire?"

"I do," Leonardo admitted, "I just have little interest in the preliminaries - or the following actions. I would just as much prefer to read a good book, or watch a nice sunrise. Now, Ezio," he added, with a soft laugh, "Don't frown so. I am not mocking you."

"Is human courtship so very... _boring_ then?" Ezio asked, fascinated. "I hadn't known."

"It does seem unnecessarily complicated," Leonardo agreed, with an amused gleam to his eyes. "But of what I have known of vampiric courtship, it is not quite so different."

"Ours," Ezio said, pitching his voice lower, as he took a few long strides closer into Leonardo's personal space, until they were almost a hand's breadth apart, "Is a far more... physical courtship, Leonardo."

"Yes, yes." Leonardo's gaze jumped briefly to Ezio's mouth, before he seemed to gather himself and bring his eyes back up to meet Ezio's. "So I have heard. More of a competition than courtship. Rather beyond a mere human's capacity."

"There are gentler parts to it." Slowly, Ezio brought up a hand, and when Leonardo did not flinch away, he brought the fingers of it carefully through the thick tail of sandy hair bunched at Leonardo's neck, straitening a few of the unruly tresses. "I could show you."

They were close enough that Ezio could see Leonardo's pulse picking up, but when Leonardo spoke, his tone was as gentle and controlled as before. "Now is not the time, Ezio. _Buona notte_." 

"Leonardo," Ezio added, with a touch of irritation now, though he dropped his hand, "I have been given to you, so-"

"Yes. Exactly." Fingers pressed lightly against Ezio's elbow before Leonardo was bustling away, towards the candleholder at the desk. "You may feel bound to follow me for the rest of your days, but I will ask nothing of you. In a way, I have already taken your life. I cannot rightly take anything more." 

"I do not understand," Ezio muttered, and felt annoyed at how bewildered he sounded, how hurt. "Do I offend you?"

"No, not in the least." Leonardo's smile seemed more tired now. "And that, my friend, is the problem."

III.

Maria Auditore unsettled Malik on every level of his hunter's instincts. She was riding a horse alongside his: some specially trained animal that didn't rear and take fright at her weight and presence - a splendid bay gelding, spirited and fierce. She did not seem dressed for battle in the least - although she had conceded riding breeches and boots, she wore a long, pale yellow dress that flowed to her ankles on either side of her horse, and her posture was queenly and upright.

She looked every inch an aristocrat: at least, up until she smiled. Then, Malik could see her teeth.

Mario was scouting ahead, somewhere, and had seemed content to leave the bulk of his forces under Lady Maria's command. Where truebloods were concerned, Malik knew that appearances were deceptive. Rebecca had mentioned offhand that Maria was quite likely as strong as Giovanni, difficult as that was to believe.

The wagon beside them trundled along, hauled by two draft horses, occasionally making a clinking sound underneath it, heavily muffled by the dark cloth. La Volpe sat perched in the driver's seat of the wagon, slouched, all the world like an old, bored farmer in his drab brown vests and cloak, on the way to market. He had been steadfastly ignoring everyone in the contingent ever since he had abruptly joined up with it half an hour's ride or so out of Monteriggioni. Long inured to the Immortal's quirks, Malik hadn't bothered to press him.

"Expecting trouble?" Maria inquired lightly, and Malik had to fight not to flinch.

"I've never been out riding past dark in vampire territory before," Malik retorted, without thinking, and flushed when Maria laughed. 

"May you have the pleasure of becoming accustomed to it once this matter is resolved." 

"May we all be alive when this matter is resolved," Malik muttered dourly. He was worried about Lorenzo, all over again: Shaun was the best of the hunters currently left at headquarters, with Federico Auditore _and_ two made vampires in a dubious state of alliance. Malik had been on long haul missions before, but never with their traditional enemy so close to home, for so long. 

"Federico will be more than enough for any threat to Firenze," Maria said soothingly, her tone confident. "He may not have Ezio's talents, but he has maturity."

"Ezio?" Malik blinked, a little surprised. Hadn't the second son been the one to have been caught in that trap by Jacopo?

"In a straight out fight," Maria noted wryly, "There are few truebloods who could best Ezio. It has made him a little arrogant. And but for the grace of your friend, it would have meant his death." 

"Leonardo is softhearted," Malik allowed, his tone dismissive, and found himself reluctantly cajoled into describing to Maria what Leonardo was like in Firenze, before the Pazzi had upped their schemes to take his life. He counted Leonardo among one of his friends, eccentric as the man could be, and as he talked, he found some of his tension leaving him.

The interlude didn't last long. Maria abruptly sat up sharply, then before Malik could comment, she was a white kestrel, dancing up into the high clouds with a shrill cry of challenge. Instantly, before Malik could even reach for his blade, the _condottieri_ around them were forming up into orderly, defensive ranks, and La Volpe was balanced precariously high on the wagon edge, his eyes narrowed, fingers curled.

"What?" Malik snapped. "What is it?" All he could see about them was deep shadow and hilly plains of grass, dotted with the occasional tree and cottage.

"Something comes," La Volpe hissed, "God in Heaven, something _wrong_ comes." He shut his eyes tight, and started to murmur under his breath, his fingers sketching something only he could see in the air. 

Malik hastily dismounted, clambering onto the wagon and dragging the cloth aside to reveal the dull steel beneath: the evil gleam of some sort of mounted, miniature cannon. A crank was set to the side, and a sleek belt of gleaming capsules that fed through a slot at the top. At his gesture, _condottieri_ took the nervous draft horses off their traces and locked the wagon with clamps to the earth, others already loading rifles with silver bullets. 

Above, there was another shrill, fearless cry, then a white speck dove into what Malik had first taken to be a stormcloud. There was the faint sound of an impact, then a dull roar that shook the slats of the wagon and set even the trained horses to panicked whinnying.

Then La Volpe raised his palms, shouting a guttural word into the air, and the cloud fell from the sky, to drop and splash and boil on the grass but thirty feet away, the shadows far too many to be one single trueblood, far too impossible to be several joined as one. And then La Volpe gestured again, with another shout, and the shadows writhed and coalesced, and-

Malik heard, through the frozen fear that dragged slow fingers over his heart, through the echoing rush of blood in his head, the gasps and terrified moans of the trained soldiers around him, the screams of their horses. The form that had torn itself out of the shadows looked like a nightmare form out of Hell itself - a mountainous, vaguely humanoid form, skin drawn taught over bulbous flesh, like many humans melted into one - standing tall, its bald, pallid crown would clear the battlements of Monteriggioni. It had no single head: instead, at the apex of the shapeless dome were many eyes, blinking: many mouths, whispering or chattering or shrieking - it dragged itself along with two trunks of legs, poorly formed, like a child's simulacra out of flesh-clay, and its hands were two gigantic fists at the end of large, over-long arms that dragged on the grass and pulled it along, thicker than Malik was tall. 

Maria Auditore battered against its head, dodging grasping, gigantic hands easily but doing no more damage than a moth against a lantern. Shadows ripped and pulled at its legs and belly, but the monster seemed to ignore the gouges and gashes that it suffered, as it roared a dumb, furious roar from a hundred mouths. 

"God in Heaven," La Volpe whispered again, even as a huge one-eyed wolf leaped from the shadows of the road, attempting to hamstring the monster, biting and snarling. 

"Get clear," Malik snapped, as he checked the feed and the crank as Leonardo had told him. La Volpe stepped aside, even as the monster growled, leaning down and with a sudden, quick swipe, grabbing the great wolf in one meaty fist. Instantly, Mario was shadow, twisting free - or he tried to: a green disc abruptly glowed bright on the back of the monster's palm, and Mario was in his wolf form again, struggling, howling. 

The horrific, wet crunch that was made as the fist clenched tight nearly made Malik retch over the side of the wagon, but he grit his teeth and started to turn the crank as fast as he could. There was a whirring hum, then a crackling, clanking sound that made Malik briefly pray to God that he was not about to blow himself up - then the muzzles, bound together by steel girdles, started to spin, the wagon rocking as projectiles fired faster than Malik could see. 

Capsules crashed and splashed apart explosively on the monster, causing it to reel back, screaming, its flesh starting to melt under whatever it was in the capsules, and even as it let go of Mario's broken form, the _condottieri_ rallied, firing their rifles, a small phalanx of silver spears and shields advancing quickly towards Mario's body. Under the hail of silver, the monster staggered further back, moaning and snarling, flailing wildly in the air, then the disc at its palm glowed bright again, and it lifted its misshapen top and _screamed_.

Bulling forward, it charged towards Malik and the wagon, ignoring the capsules and bullets. _Condottieri_ scattered hastily under the charge, and at the last minute, Malik abandoned the wagon and leaped wildly away, rolling as he hit the grass. There was an awful, splintering sound as Leonardo's invention was ground into the dirt, and Malik didn't wait to check if La Volpe had also gotten clear - he was running for one of the horses, pulling himself astride and yanking on the reins, kicking it to make it run and circle. He drew his silver blade, cursing his lack of a spare hand as he tried to get the horse to wheel about and charge, fighting its panic at every step. 

Then there was another horse beside him, a white destrier with orange eyes, and Malik hesitated only for a second before he scrambled onto its bare back. Maria shrieked a challenge and charged the monster, her stride eating up the ground even as Malik grimaced and leaned over at the last moment as they darted around the huge legs, slicing at what he hoped would be the hamstring. The monster roared, stamping, but Maria was faster than any horse, springing over bulbous toes and wheeling out over the grass. 

"There's no use to that!" La Volpe yelled at them from across the grass, pointing, "Get that damned disc! It's what's animating that abomination!"

"Easier said than done!" Malik shouted back, then he bit down on a yelp as Maria charged again, this time headlong. The monster turned to face them, striding forward, swiping low, and shadows burst from the grass, binding the disc-hand down. It slowed the hand, but only briefly - once the disc glowed, the shadows dissipated, and the hand lifted, too quickly for Malik to get a swing at it as they darted past. 

It took two more tries before they got the timing right. A wild gash from Malik's blade caught the disc right across its face - and then Malik was barely aware of a dull thump, a sudden force that exploded outwards, punching him off the vampire-shifted horse and into the air to land, rolling and bouncing, like a rag doll over the grass. 

Bruised, counting at least one broken rib, Malik spit curses as he pulled himself up onto his elbow and knees, just in time to watch the flesh monster start to come apart with a certain grotesque fascination. First, more and more shapes - limbs, bones, heads - became more and more obvious; then whatever horrific adhesive was binding them together seemed to break down - until at last there was just a vaguely ogre-shaped mound of naked bodies, piled tight together, slumped on the grass.

Malik counted men, women, _children_ , even, disbelievingly, staring pale and drawn across the grass, even as at the corner of his eyes, he saw some of Mario's hardened _condottieri_ start to weep and throw up. 

La Volpe approached him, limping, even as Maria sped over to Mario's side, checking his unmoving body. After a moment, she straightened up in relief. "He'll mend," she called over to them. 

"We had best get out of here," La Volpe glanced back at the monster, and shuddered again. "And pray that this beast is the only one of its kind stalking your lands." 

"What _is_ it?" Malik breathed, still blinking slowly. 

"A forbidden magic." La Volpe grunted. "I've seen its like before in the Orient, but never on this scale. Look at those bodies. I'll bet my magic that they used to be the bondsmen from the N'drangheta territories."

Wearily, Malik dragged himself to his feet, steeling himself and limping over to the mountain of corpses, towards the shattered disc, La Volpe at his side. The disc was sunk into the chest of a young woman - no, not young, Malik decided, as he got a good look at her empty, staring orange eyes. A _trueblood_. 

"So this is what happened to the N'drangheta famiglia," Malik muttered, prodding at the shattered disc with his silver blade. It came free from the girl's ribcage, and the body abruptly sifted down into gritty dust.

"God help us all," La Volpe whispered, then he seemed to shake himself out of his horror, stalking towards the _condottieri_. "I want this burned," he gestured sharply at the bodies. "Catch your horses. Rally yourselves. We retreat." 

Maria frowned at him from where she stood, but after a moment, she nodded curtly at her men, and they scrambled to obey. "The disc?" Malik asked, with a jerk of his thumb. "What do we do with it?"

"The magic within it has been shattered. Let the fragments burn with the rest of this." La Volpe stared grimly at the mass of tangled corpses. "May they rest in peace now, poor damned souls."


	15. Chapter 15

I.

"It's raining _fucking_ vampires!" Hastings snarled from the courtyard, startling Lorenzo from his perusal of a map marked with Auditore towns and boundaries. He hurried to the window, glancing out, in time to see Kadar embrace Altaïr tightly, laughing and crying, even as Giovanni and Federico stood at one side, their heads lowered in quiet conversation. Desmond hovered awkwardly close by, looking confused and lost for a moment before understanding seemed to light up on his face - then he was pounding Kadar on the back, grinning broadly.

Rubbing his eyes, Lorenzo swept out of the secured quarters of the hunter headquarters, down the stairway and out to the courtyard, where Altaïr had already gingerly pried Kadar off him, looking openly uncomfortable at all the attention. "Where is Malik?" he asked flatly, when he saw Lorenzo.

"Not here. Monteriggioni," Lorenzo explained, glancing at Giovanni. "Malik has sent me a report. Things are not... going well." 

Giovanni narrowed his eyes. The trueblood looked tired, but he straightened up with some effort. He looked over to Federico, who lifted one shoulder into a shrug. "I have already heard the report, Father. It is not so bad."

"Oh, it's not so bad, is it?" Hastings glowered at Federico. "Giant flesh-stitched twice undead abominations are 'not so bad', are they?" 

"Peace," Lorenzo cut in sharply. "I'll update Giovanni and we can decide the rest of the division of our forces. Our attack on Venezia may have to be delayed for now, perhaps, but it's not forgotten."

"Assuming Venezia still has any people left," Hastings growled, "What with the husks having gone berserk and all. Somehow, I'm not _too_ sure about the strategic quality of a mass grave." 

"I need to speak to Malik," Altaïr said abruptly, with a look to Giovanni, then he added, more formally, "May I have leave to enter your hunting grounds, _sayyad_?"

Giovanni bared his teeth into a humourless smile. "You have proven to me that you have the cunning and ability to kill a trueblood. Would I still be willing to allow you near my family?" 

"Killed a _trueblood_?" Lorenzo blinked. "Then, Robert de Sable...?" Trailing off, he looked quickly to Kadar, then finally, as matters added up, smiled slowly. "Congratulations."

Kadar nodded nervously, looking embarrassed at being the sudden focus of everyone's attention, and tried shuffling a little behind Altaïr, who sidestepped out of the way, still glaring at Giovanni. "I can give you my word that I will not-"

"Malik will be back here soon enough," Lorenzo interrupted quickly, as Giovanni merely bristled visibly. "You need rest. Food. It is a remarkable thing you have done, to take down Robert. Truly remarkable."

Grudgingly, Altaïr nodded, although his expression remained sour, and Lorenzo gestured at one of the hunters, whose face pinched for a moment in distaste before he ducked away with a few others. A roster of volunteers had been set up, though volunteers were still few and far between, there had been more ever since Hastings had started strong-arming everyone into 'contributing'. The system had created a few rumbles of discontent, but nothing serious as yet: Lorenzo's apparent control of Giovanni had silenced most critics so far. 

He would have to be careful to hold on to that. 

Once they were inside, Lorenzo had the Auditore map brought to the main war room, spreading it out on the table, along with Malik's pigeon message. Updating Giovanni on the situation was quick - Giovanni merely listened, asking no questions, and at the end, frowning, he settled back into his seat. 

"It seems as though if La Volpe had not been there, things might have gone very badly," Federico ventured. 

"I do not like magic that can pull a trueblood out of shadow and into solid form," Giovanni grunted. "But I have heard that it is possible for the Magi of the Orient, so I am not surprised that it was possible for the Immortal. What I have _not_ heard of is this disc and its powers."

"Leonardo complained that La Volpe had chosen to destroy it," Lorenzo added. "But I think in this I must agree with La Volpe. It is a most cursed thing." 

"To bind corpses to a trueblood's body and then..." Desmond trailed off, then stiffened when he realized that he had evidently spoken out aloud. "Sorry. Ignore me. Sorry."

"You have heard of this before?" Altaïr's face was still twisted in disgust. "In the laboratories that you escaped?"

"Maybe. I'm thinking. I didn't get to hear a lot. But Vidic had a lot of projects." Desmond swallowed. "Most of them were about amplifying vampiric powers. So, it's possible. It sounds just like something he would do."

Giovanni uttered something under his breath, then continued, "So my brother is injured. They have killed one of these things but are not sure that it is the only one. The situation does not, as you say, seem 'good', _Altezza_."

"On the other hand," Lorenzo added mildly, "It is also a good time to attack Venezia." 

"With what troops?" Federico asked, arching an eyebrow. "Vampires cannot cross water, and your men are committed here and in Monteriggioni."

In response, Lorenzo looked pointedly at Giovanni, whose expression froze briefly, his lip curling up a fraction. "You ask me to fight another war, when my family and my home are under siege?"

"It might serve to draw off some of the forces - or prevent the other Templars from reinforcing Michelotto's men." Lorenzo argued, forcing confidence into his tone. "Besides, I think that the situation in your territories is not good, but it is not _dire_. This beast was taken down with no casualties suffered."

"I could go," Federico offered. "Kadar is free, and-"

"But this Desmond Miles is not," Giovanni pointed out. 

"Ah," Desmond said uncomfortably, even as Federico grinned.

"Even the least of these Medici hunters could probably subdue him, Father."

"...Thanks," Desmond grumbled, almost under his breath, "Very much."

"No. Besides, with the Medici forces not at full strength in Firenze and its holdings, the Pazzi may try attacking Firenze again," Giovanni decided wearily. "Very well. I will see to Venezia. But it may be a pointless battle, if you have not the men to hold it secure." 

"Hopefully the state of its remaining surviving citizenry can be rallied," Lorenzo said doubtfully. That would mean having to follow Giovanni there and speak to the survivors himself - or send a suitable representative - and of the hunters in his employ, perhaps only Malik had the name and presence to command strangers. "I'll think about it further. For now, congratulations again on Roma, and rest."

II.

Despite Hasting's open disapproval, Lorenzo followed Giovanni into the trueblood's rooms within the hunters' headquarters. When he closed the door behind him, Giovanni smirked, even as he lighted the tapers in the room, circling - no, _prowling_ about it, like a great beast in a cage too small for its gait.

"Your servants grow fractious," Giovanni drawled, even as the shadows flickering under the light of the tapers abruptly grew unnaturally still. "Your familiarity with me does you no favours."

"Results are all the favours I need." Lorenzo said flatly, refusing to allow Giovanni to see an inch of his unease. 

"I wonder," Giovanni retorted, clearly not fooled. "Freehold humans tend to be a closeminded lot. If you think that the Venezian humans will swear fealty to you so easily, you are being naive." 

"Naive is one trait that is not in my character," Lorenzo noted dryly. "And come to Venezia I must. It was, after all, the main point of gambling in the first place." He touched his palm meaningfully to his neck, and Giovanni tensed up. Quickly, Lorenzo brought his hand away, and caught the brief, hard edge of hunger in Giovanni's orange eyes before the trueblood composed himself. 

"Don't do that," Giovanni said finally.

"You can feel that? Even through my clothes?" Giovanni nodded curtly, and when he didn't seem inclined to explain, Lorenzo added, cautiously, " _All_ the bite marks?"

"Just the first one," Giovanni conceded gruffly, then he exhaled harshly. "You had best leave."

"You're hungry, and you haven't fed for two days."

"I can go without for longer. I'm tired at present," Giovanni added, when Lorenzo was about to make a sarcastic comment about Giovanni's waning sense of self-control when he was pushing the edge of hunger, "And I might not have as much control as I should." 

"I have commanded you to stop before." 

"That was _before_ , when I was unaware of how thoroughly I could circumvent your wishes if I wished." 

Lorenzo clamped down on the disconcerted unease he felt, and clenched tight on his instinctive fear. "I trust you," he forced himself to say, and realized, to his own surprise, that he believed it. He _did_ trust Giovanni. It was a necessary trust, perhaps, but it was there, and sincere. 

Giovanni blinked, then he was abruptly gone, and Lorenzo took a half-step forward in surprise before tensing up as big hands curled over his hips from behind, and cool breath brushed against his throat. "Do you?" Giovanni inquired, his voice rasping, deeper, as though forced out from the throat of a great, fanged beast rather than something man-shaped. "Do you truly?" 

In response, Lorenzo reached to unclasp the high collar of his robes, his fingers unsteady at first, then growing confident as he navigated the ornate catch and tugged the heavy fabric wide to bare the scars on his neck, and felt Giovanni press flush behind him with a low growl that rumbled into a groan as lips brushed the ridges on his skin. 

"We should," Giovanni whispered, his tone thick, "Take this to the bed, _Altezza_."

Lorenzo took in a long, steadying breath, fighting for control over the hot flush of lust that banked through him at the low suggestion. "Your wife may object. And even if she did not," he added, more firmly, "I have no intention of being part of an affair."

This time, the growl seemed amused. " _Altezza_ , should a woman be jealous of her husband if he were to laugh with others?" 

"It's hardly a correlation-"

"What is physical intimacy to a species that is half shadow, with a lifespan of centuries, human?" There was a pause, then a frustrated huff. "It is difficult to explain. 'Marriage' between vampires is a matter of partnership. Of total trust. A promise to try and stand firm together against time."

"'Try'?"

"Vampires are not immortal, _Altezza_ , though it may seem so to a human." Fingers were running distractingly up and down Lorenzo's ribs, and Lorenzo shivered, trying to concentrate. "We age. Very, very slowly, by your years, but we age. And all things that age must die."

"You mean that vampires also... die in bed? Of old age?" The thought was so incongruous that Lorenzo nearly smiled.

"No, no." Giovanni's huff of amusement brushed against Lorenzo's shoulder as he nuzzled the bared skin briefly, intimately. "Ennui is the main enemy of a true vampire, _Altezza_. Entropy. And in the end, madness." A cool tongue pressed up and traced the scar on Lorenzo's skin, teasing out a soft gasp. "This situation with you is most trying at the best of times, but I have to concede that I have not felt like this in an age." 

"Like what?" Lorenzo was all too aware of how strained his voice was.

"I believe... by the words of your species... 'alive'." Giovanni purred. "And even as I love my mate as I do, this is not something that she can give me." 

The breath in Lorenzo's throat caught at the frank, raw admission, and it took only a moment for him to reach up to curl his hand in Giovanni's thick hair. "Not the bed tonight." He couldn't quite reconcile himself to that, not yet, even if he could feel his breeches growing tighter at the very thought. "But take what you need."

He was steeling himself against the odd bleed of images from Giovanni's mind, or a pulse of pleasure, but instead, when fangs slid painlessly into his flesh, Lorenzo felt... _warmth_ , as though he was being enfolded in a heart of shadow, pulled safe and deep: it should have felt akin drowning, but he breathed, sure and slow.

III.

Altaïr had grudgingly agreed to linger on in Firenze, although he was clearly restless and spent most of his time prowling about noiselessly, upsetting the few hunters who managed to spot him but offering no assistance whatsoever.

It was not a good thing that Firenze had been cleansed of husks, Kadar decided, as he sat on the slate roof of an old set of terraced houses, long abandoned by their owners. Altaïr was not good company at the best of times, even when he had been human, and the situation was likely to escalate, however kindly the humans might think of him for having been the one to dispose of Robert de Sable.

On the other hand, life - even this part-life of a vampire - was good, for now. He was free. The weight of Robert's presence was gone: Federico had withdrawn his influence, and Kadar's mind felt giddily, pleasantly _his_. He had spent an hour after Altaïr's arrival just flying wherever he wished, while Federico first chased after his tail and then eventually had banked away just to perch on a church steeple to watch him: flying and swooping and arcing about until his heart felt like it would burst.

"You are thinking very hard, _uccellino_ ," Federico murmured beside him, perched comfortably on the roof. by his side, long legs sprawled over the slate. 

Kadar blushed, and Federico laughed outright, playful and amused. "I... I was just thinking-"

"As I said." 

"... nevermind," Kadar mumbled.

"No, no," Federico sobered up quickly, though his eyes still danced with mirth. "Forgive me. Tell me what is on your mind."

"I was thinking that your father should have let Altaïr visit-"

"Oh?" Federico cut in, and although he was still polite, the playfulness was gone. 

"It was just a thought," Kadar said quickly. "He will not listen to anyone but Malik, and Malik is not here, and perhaps he, he can help, and-"

"Altaïr is a most dangerous vampire, even if he is not a trueblood," Federico shrugged. "Even were we to trust his word, his presence may attract reprisals from these so-called Templars. After all, he _did_ single-handedly kill one of their own."

"Oh. I thought..." Kadar trailed off, then added, "That makes sense. I just wish he wouldn't aggravate the humans so."

"Talk to him, then."

"He has never listened to me, even in life."

"You may be surprised. Being turned might have given him a few new perspectives." Federico's eyes crinkled a little at the edges with good-humour. "After all, once he was free, he could have run and forgotten all about you. But he did not."

"It was never in Altaïr's nature to run and hide from anything," Kadar said wryly. "But I will try." 

"Father and the Duce are making preparations to leave for Venezia, after all," Federico nodded. "And if I must be left to guard this city along with the Duce's hunters, then it would be best if things were as... peaceful as possible."

"Hastings will probably be left in charge as well," Kadar pointed out. "Nothing is going to be peaceful."

"Things would be boring if they were too peaceful," Federico allowed, and Kadar let out a soft squeak as the trueblood curled an arm about his waist and tugged him up against him with easy strength. "But since we still have a day or so to ourselves before I must be responsible..." 

"I..." At his gasp, Federico turned to look him over curiously.

"Is there a problem?"

"No... no, I just - I was not expecting this," Kadar said, in a rush. "After all, I am now free, and, you no longer need to watch me, and I am just a - a made vampire, sired by one of your enemies at that, and-"

Federico's expression had run the gamut from curiosity to caution to amused surprise, and now he laughed, pulling Kadar firmly into his lap to straddle his thighs. Kadar instinctively tried to jerk away, but ended up over-compensating by accident and fell against Federico instead, their noses bumping - despite himself, he let out a little laugh, and felt Federico's grinning mouth brush his cheek in a teasing kiss. 

"When I said that you were very cute, _uccellino_ , did you think that was a temporary opinion?"

"It seemed very temporary at the time," Kadar murmured, though he didn't pull back when Federico's kiss brushed firmly against his mouth. "Your family doesn't even like me."

"Only because you were still bound to your sire, before."

Kadar wasn't so sure - he was no trueblood, after all - but Federico's kisses were so sure and confident that he found himself tempted, all the same. He had not experienced such tenderness before, not in life, and certainly not after he had been turned; the novelty was still exquisite, tactile and affectionate as Federico was. He curled his hands tightly in Federico's vest, clutching at the rich fabric as he opened his mouth, allowing Federico's wicked tongue to press within and-

Beside them, Altaïr pointedly cleared his throat. 

Kadar yelped, jerked backwards, and nearly rolled off the roof in sheer shock. Shadows curled tight against his waist, pinning him until he regained his balance, and Federico frowned slightly at Altaïr, clearly displeased. "Is something the matter?"

"Kadar Al-Sayf was _just_ freed from the clutches of one trueblood," Altaïr's tone was neutral, though his eyes were flat and unfriendly. "One is enough for a lifetime."

Federico's smile bared all of his teeth, and Kadar hastened to cut in, "Altaïr, Federico is nothing like Robert."

"Oh, and you have known him for so very long, have you?" Altaïr retorted coldly. "Tell me, Federico Auditore, if Kadar Al-Sayf was _not_ an Al-Sayf, would you even have bothered trying to 'rescue' him?"

"Perhaps not," Federico allowed, "But I am still fond of him now."

"Not fond enough to attack Robert for him," Altaïr's lip curled into a sneer. 

"That's enough, Altaïr," Kadar said firmly, putting a hand on Federico's arm as Federico straightened up, the shadows on the roof licking restlessly at the slate. "Federico is an ally of the Duce, and Malik is working for the Duce. _Please_ don't make things difficult for my brother."

Altaïr's jaw clenched, and he seemed to be about to say something, then he snorted, and uncurled to his feet, leaping off the roof into his black eagle form, the barred tail fanning out as the bird rode the stiff evening breeze up into the dark sky.

"There, you see," Federico said, after a long, stilted moment. "You can be quite persuasive, Kadar."

Kadar sighed. " _Ana asif_. He has never trusted easily."

"Oh," Federico smiled wryly, "He was sincerely concerned."

"There was no need for him to be," Kadar settled back on the roof beside Federico, his hands pressed over his knees. "To my brother, I am already dead."


	16. Chapter 16

I.

Malik had objected strenuously to bed rest, even as Leonardo had bandaged him and applied poultices, and in the end, had to be threatened with forced drugging before he had subsided with ill grace. So it was Rebecca and Lucy who got to enjoy the nice morning ride out with Sebastian and his reserves.

"It's a nice, warm morning," Rebecca said cheerfully, once they were out of sight of Monteriggioni.

"Be serious, Rebecca," Lucy murmured. Her arm was still healing, but she could sit astride a horse and manoeuvre with little difficulty. The _condottieri_ were silent and wary, and even Sebastian offered no conversation, instead darting cautious glances about them as they rode. 

"I _am_ being serious. The sun is shining, it's a nice, warm day, we probably won't be facing any giant melting flesh monsters-"

"Only possibly siege engines and bows and such," Lucy sighed, then she winced as Rebecca clapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh, lighten up, Stilman. No one died! That's a win by my books."

"The day's still young," Lucy retorted, though she smiled faintly, reluctantly. 

"You know, I forgot to mention," Rebecca said, as an afterthought. "There was some fledgling vampire that Shaun brought in, that night when the Duce was taken on an involuntary tour of some abandoned Firenze cellar. A made vampire which had been modified by Vidic. Said he knew you. Lorenzo said to mention it, but what with Ezio biting Leonardo and flesh monsters all, I clean forgot. Sorry." 

Lucy's expression stiffened. "What was his name?"

"Desmond Miles." Rebecca arched an eyebrow when Lucy looked away sharply. "So he wasn't bullshitting us." 

"If he's a vampire now, he's dead." Lucy exhaled slowly. "Poor kid. Vidic has a lot to answer for."

"Yeah, poor kid," Rebecca said dryly, "He thought that maybe you could help him out."

"If he's a vampire now, he's _dead_ ," Lucy repeated flatly. "The only help I can give is silver." 

"Being turned changes some people, sure," Rebecca retorted, "But not all of them. And besides, Ezio's not so bad, and I've met Claudia and Petruccio and-"

"Ezio _ate_ one of his bondsmen."

"Aw, that wasn't his fault-"

"If a dog went mad, and killed a man, do we put it down?" Lucy scowled. "If a man goes man, and murders another, do we hang him?"

"His own family was _going_ to put him to death," Rebecca said mulishly, "Leonardo intervened, remember? That's not the point, anyway. I'm saying, they're different, sure, but there's good vampires and bad vampires. Just like people."

"You grew up in a Pazzi human farm, Rebecca," Lucy replied bitingly. "Remember that."

"Of course I fucking remember it-" Rebecca began, but Lucy had already spurred her horse to ride on ahead, and she sighed out aloud. 

"She is like many of the 'free' humans," Sebastian said behind Rebecca, nearly startling her into yelping. "Close-minded."

Despite herself, Rebecca felt instantly defensive. "Working undercover in Vidic's lab didn't help. She still has bad dreams. Wakes up screaming sometimes. I've heard her." 

Sebastian reined up beside her, shuddering. "I can well imagine."

"No. I think you can't," Rebecca said, if not unkindly. 

The Captain narrowed his eyes, then seemed to decide not to push the point. "I'm surprised that Vidic used human assistants."

"He wanted creatures whom he could intimidate. And serve as an instant food source in a pinch, if needed," Rebecca said dryly. When Sebastian grimaced, she added, "Humans are good for delicate work. Lab equipment breaks too easily. There's other reasons, but eh," Rebecca jerked her thumb back at Monteriggioni. "It's apparently no real coincidence that the best scientists and engineers in the world are human."

"The drive to build is not only human."

"The drive to _keep_ building is," Rebecca corrected. "Vidic's a bit of an anomaly among the truebloods as it is. I guess when your lifespan measures in terms of centuries, curiosity isn't a lasting trait."

Sebastian turned out to be fairly decent company: but a couple of hours into the ride out, Lucy abruptly turned her horse about, cantering back towards Rebecca, who stood up on her stirrups, shading her eyes against the sun. 

There. Behind Lucy. The rising tail of smoke.

"Abbadia San Salvatore is on fire," Lucy said curtly, once she reined in. "It's under attack," she explained, rather unnecessarily.

Rebecca reached out and grabbed Sebastian's wrist even as he was about to turn to bark commands at the _condottieri_. "How bad is it?"

"Looks like it'll probably be all or most of Michelotto's army." Lucy's lip twisted. "They're looking to burn and raze the Auditore out of their human livestock, I think. Salting the fields."

Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath, then he exhaled. "Did you see refugees?"

"Aye, but they'll not last the trek to safety."

"Then we attack," Sebastian said grimly. "And buy them time."

"No, you fool," Lucy snapped, "We're _outnumbered_."

"Reinforcements are two hours' ride away, and we are not seeking to recover the commune, only to protect its survivors."

"I'm going to stay," Rebecca added. "Lucy, your arm's still acting up. You should head back. Bring help."

"If this is what you want to do," Lucy's eyes darted between Rebecca and Sebastian, "Fine." 

"Besides, maybe La Volpe might feel up to his faster-than-horse travel trick, eh?" Rebecca noted cheerfully, trying to sound more confident than she felt, but Lucy only nodded sharply before she spurred her horse, heading in a dead gallop back towards Monteriggioni. 

It was Sebastian's turn to lean up on his stirrups, as he barked, "Form the horse!" 

Grinning, Rebecca nudged her borrowed dun mare up into line beside Sebastian's gray, even as the other mounted _condottieri_ formed up, silver lances at the ready. Rebecca had no lance, but she had a crossbow and her blades, which hopefully would make up for it. 

This was going to be _fun_.

"Have you done this before, _signorina_?" Sebastian asked, as the line of cavalry stamped and snorted. 

"Can't say I have."

"Try to stay mounted," Sebastian advised, after a moment's thought, caught her grin, and grinned back. "Now - forward!"

The ground shook under the thunder of hooves as the _condottieri_ charged. Two companies of horse lance crested the hill and rushed down into the ranks of panicking infantry, flattening people under stamping hooves and spitting bodies on upraised lances. 

Abbadia San Salvatore had not been a walled commune - instead, it was a sprawling, quaint little stone township, built around a stone abbey. Judging by how the fighting seemed thickest there, with the embattled township's small garrison barricading the doors, no doubt some of the townsfolk had hidden inside. 

They had come up against a flank of the enemy - the main ranks were forming up hastily beyond the outskirts of the open commune, protecting two large, suspicious carriages, matte black, with heavy curtains. Rebecca grinned to herself, wheeling her horse, darting away from the thickest of the skirmishes as she fit one of Leonardo's cunning, special bolts into her crossbow, bracing the stirrup at her foot and drawing the string tight with a practiced movement using a hook at her belt. 

She aimed, taking in a slow breath, trying to ignore the clamour of war around her, and pulled the trigger.

The stock kicked back, even as the bolt shot forward and slammed into the front of the carriage. A normal bolt would have skittered away from the reinforced hull; the head of hers shattered instead, and abruptly spat forth a plume of fire that spread quickly over what little of the wood remained between the slats of blackened steel. Alchemist's fire, Leonardo had said vaguely, when he had carefully fit the heads to the shafts. 

Alchemist's _genius_ , in Rebecca's opinion. Gleefully, she watched as the four black horses pulling the heavy carriage promptly panicked, rearing and lunging in their traces, dragging the carriage out of formation and trampling the men who tried to grab for their reins. The carriage plunged away, the horses stampeding for the hills, even as a swarthy man on a tall chestnut horse gestured at Rebecca.

Time to make herself scarce. Rebecca kicked at her horse, urging the spirited mare back into the fight. She didn't like fighting humans, as a rule, but even as she blocked a thrust and swung, cutting a man's throat, Rebecca felt that if there was one thing worse than a mad, cruel vampire, it was the humans who worked as their willing servants. 

Then there was a shout from Sebastian - the enemy was _retreating_! A team of cavalry had left in hot pursuit of the runaway carriage, and the rest of Michelotto's forces were pulling back, slowly but steadily, and the infantry they engaged in the street were turning on their heels, first in ranks, then in rout, fleeing the streets to chase after their army. 

"They won't go far," Sebastian predicted, as the _condottieri_ cavalry rearranged themselves, the infantry at the door to the abbey sorting back into haphazard ranks. 

"They should have just pressed on and squashed us into the ground," Rebecca added, puzzled. "It's what I would have done."

Sebastian shot her a faint smile. "I think Michelotto is being cautious. Besides, you've just set fright to something important, it seems, whatever it was. And it is the daytime, with no siege weapons about. We will give them more trouble than we're worth."

The Captain's confidence was comforting, but still, the small garrison in the commune had been thoroughly savaged - Rebecca could count few who were still unscathed. It seemed insane to contemplate, but these bondsmen of the Auditore seemed to be willing to fight to the last man. 

"We've got to set fire to those carriages."

"Do you think..." Sebastian trailed away. "So those carriages are housing those flesh monsters?"

Rebecca nodded slowly. Truebloods could travel in far more inconspicuous containers that would prove harder targets to hit. "I'll give out Leonardo's bolts to any crossbowmen we have. Careful, don't break the boltheads on anything but a target."

"Two more? _Cazzo_ ," Sebastian swore, then he started to bark orders, pulling out the best crossbowmen remaining from the infantry and cavalry ranks.

"I'll head up to a vantage point as well," Rebecca continued, dismounting from her horse and passing the reins to an uninjured garrison _condottieri_. "That's probably the best chance we have of driving them off. We're far too outnumbered. Five to one, at the least."

"The stone buildings are sturdy enough," Sebastian said, "And they didn't bring any siege engines." 

"Those carriages _are_ the siege engines," Rebecca muttered, but she did wonder. Where _were_ the engines? Or did Michelotto think them pointless against Abbadia San Salvatore? Still, they _would_ need engines to assault Monteriggioni.

Unless-

Unless this was only part of Michelotto's advance forces. 

Putting _that_ depressing thought aside, Rebecca stepped over to the brick abbey and began climb, crossbow hitched across her back.

II.

Leonardo watched the relief forces leave, bolstered by Lorenzo's men, marching out for a good distance away from Monteriggioni before abruptly blurring, as though a mirage wavering in the heat, then vanishing. Shaking his head, Leonardo descended from the battlements, turning part of his mind to the curiosity of La Volpe's magic before visiting the forges, where his assistants were already hard at work casting more rifles, cannon and rapid fire machines.

He had been guiltily proud of the last - an extrapolation, in part, of champagne bottles, mechanical power, rifles and clockwork: not that it had really helped against the giant monsters, Leonardo had to admit. With a sigh, he settled up against the great work tables at the workshop, and started to sketch. Some sort of ballista, perhaps, like a harpoon, or more explosives, if the disc was the problem...

It was late in the day when Malik showed up in the workshop, his expression pinched, evidently restless, walking slowly as thoug movement pained him. "How goes the battle?" Leonardo asked absently, without looking up.

"Rebecca and La Volpe are holding out in Abbadia San Salvatore. Barely." Malik scowled. "Mario Auditore is still indisposed. That makes one less trueblood, and I hear there are two of those carriages."

"What carriages?"

"A scout rode up." Malik explained what Rebecca had done, and at the end, started scowling again, settling down painfully into a chair, sweating in the heat of the workshop. "What are you working on?"

"You say the disc shattered when it was hit by your blade." Leonardo held up a carefully crafted set of silver razors, cutting held together in a sheathed brace. "This could go onto the talons of Lady Maria." 

"She won't wear silver. None of the truebloods will." 

"It was a thought," Leonardo sighed, putting aside the razors. "And it probably would be our best bet against those creatures. I'll speak to Lady Maria."

Malik grunted. "Maybe her son can persuade her." At Leonardo's raised eyebrow, he added, dryly, "She's proud of Ezio. And come nightfall, the situation in Abbadia San Salvatore is going to deteriorate very quickly, I think."

With that prediction weighing heavily on his mind, Leonardo picked up the razors and made his way out of the workshop into the late afternoon sun. He rubbed his eyes, breathed out, and made his way back towards the smaller workshop, where he had last left Ezio. 

Monteriggioni was on a war footing - reserve _condottieri_ bustled about, checking fortifications and manning the battlements, while non-combat citizens moved purposefully around, carrying ammunition, food and water to the garrison soldiers. Leonardo didn't like the anticipatory tension in the air: he had never been inside a fort before, not one so small and purpose-built. Firenze was a fortified city, but it was huge - large enough that its defence seemed more... _human_. Monteriggioni functioned like a war machine, even though surely it had not been attacked in centuries.

Ezio was waiting anxiously for him near the door in the small workshop when he came in. He smiled, then blinked at the silver in Leonardo's hands and stopped in the middle of stepping close. Briefly, Leonardo considered keeping hold of the silver, but decided in the end not to be childish and left it on his desk. "A weapon," he explained. "Altaïr carries silver. If one of you could strike a disc with silver in your claws-"

"None of us will wear that," Ezio's expression remained disgusted.

"Then," Leonardo pointed out quietly, "You will not be able to avoid the deaths of more of your bondsmen and your allies."

Ezio opened his mouth, then shut it quickly, and clenched his hands. Leonardo watched him soberly, for a long moment, then climbed up onto his seat at the workbench, pulling up paper and a pencil. Before he could start to write, however, Ezio said gruffly, "Me. Fit it to my claws. I will bear it." 

"You cannot leave Monteriggioni-"

"If I can destroy those... things," Ezio said flatly, "Then my family is safe. Exile is a small matter compared to that." 

"Ezio," Leonardo sighed. "Those monsters are.... symptoms. We still have yet to discover how the N'drangheta were turned into them."

"But what use do I serve _here_?" Ezio asked, his expression fierce. "Better that I _fight_."

"The defence of Monteriggioni-"

"Claudia and Petruccio are young, but they are not helpless."

"And they can face down Jacopo, then? By themselves?"

Ezio bared his teeth at the reminder, but after a sharp breath, he glanced away. "Then my mother should stay here. She will be more than enough to guard you and the fort." 

"You are not in any real position to make such decisions, my friend," Leonardo tried a tentative smile, and had to swallow a small laugh when Ezio muttered and began to pace, so much like a young human male. God help him, but Ezio was _handsome_ : the bait in this trap was exquisite. 

"Fit it to me anyway," Ezio said persuasively, after a long moment. "Even if Mother wishes to bear them instead, if she tells me to stay, the adjustments will be quicker, will it not? From what you have built now to the final measurements." 

"It will not take long to secure," Leonardo pointed at the small straps and buckles, and smiled again as Ezio made another frustrated sound. "Peace, Ezio. I know full well how difficult it is to have to stay behind when your friends are in danger."

Ezio's pacing came to a sudden halt, and then he had stepped to Leonardo's side, faster than any human could, a hand pressed against Leonardo's wrist, pinning it gently to the paper. "Leonardo, surely you are not going to ride out."

"As a last resort, to draw Michelotto away from Monteriggioni-"

" _No._ "

"You have women and children here," Leonardo pointed out gently. "Are their lives worth mine?"

"You assume that the Borgia have invaded because of you."

"They have not shown any interest in Auditore territories before, have they? While they have always been an enemy of Firenze. There have been attempts on my life for a long while."

"The Auditore are now allies with Firenze," Ezio disagreed. "I think they will not be content with your death."

"Ezio," Leonardo said wryly, "It is not my death that they seek. Not by your standards, though certainly by Lorenzo's and Malik's, and many of my human friends." 

Ezio's expression was puzzled for a moment, then angry, and his hand tightened lightly on Leonardo's wrist. "They want to turn you against your will."

"No doubt. Why waste an asset that can be subverted?" Leonardo gently extricated his hand from Ezio's wrist. "Of course, if there is no option to turn me, likely they will settle for killing me. But that would be a better outcome for Lorenzo than the other."

"How can you speak so calmly of this?" 

"There is no point in becoming angry, or afraid." 

Ezio's jaw set, then he grabbed Leonardo's palm. Before Leonardo could pull away, he had turned Leonardo's hand wrist side up, and had lifted it, brushing his lips against the soft skin of the underside, against the faint flecks of old burns from experiments gone mildly awry. 

"Fit the razors on me," Ezio said gruffly, when Leonardo sucked in a soft breath. "At dark, I will face the creatures. Michelotto will _not_ have you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a real life thing on tonight which will slow down updates a bit ;3 thanks for following this old fic so far!


	17. Chapter 17

I.

Climbing up onto the high, sleek back of Giovanni's shapeshifted black horse form felt no less insane than the first time Lorenzo had tried it. It was more comfortable than being astride a true horse - the muscle on Giovanni's back seemed to shift disturbingly to accommodate the pull of his weight, as though the horse was truly merely mostly shadow. He didn't need a saddle to stay mounted on a normal horse, but he still irritably wished that he had the comfort of one over Giovanni's destrier form.

"This is a very bad idea," Hastings complained, for the twenty-first time since Lorenzo had announced his intention to leave for Venezia with just Giovanni as his guard. 

Giovanni's destrier form snorted, with a sound like a high mounted bellows, and shook its proud head out, shaking the thick mane. Lorenzo touched his fingers to Giovanni's neck, and the great horse calmed, flicking its tail disdainfully at the ranks of hunters out to see them off. The made vampires were, perhaps wisely, nowhere in sight: nor was Federico. The hunters were tense and unhappy enough. 

"Hastings, you are in charge," Lorenzo said again. He hated repeating himself, but soothing the men under his command was paramount. "I should not be away for more than a week-"

"And if you are?"

"Then send word to Malik." Lorenzo kept his tone even and calm. "We have been building towards an acquisition of Venezia for years. We need those shipyards." 

Hastings grunted. "You mean you need a place to stash Leonardo." 

There were sudden murmurs among the ranks of the other hunters at this, but Lorenzo was quick enough in the ways of command to stifle his own surprise before it even appeared. That was true. He hadn't quite voiced that concern before: but the acquisition of Venezia was always for the purpose of securing any assets that he deemed too precious to risk even sequestering them in Firenze. Leonardo would definitely be one of them.

" _Certo_ , Hastings." Lorenzo was relieved to see some of the unhappy tension fade from many of the ranks of hunters: Hastings would still have a firm grip on the rest. "But Firenze will remain my seat of power. I will return. Venezie we need to secure, not only as a power base, but as a huge, safe zone where we can house those most precious to us. Like our children." 

There were nods now, and soft murmurs. The Pazzi _famiglia_ 's assault on Firenze had not been without its casualties. "So we look forward still," Lorenzo continued, pushing the moment. "We look _forward_ , not just to survive, but to win this war. For peace. For the future of our species."

That was certainly a touch overblown, but Hastings began to clap, pointedly, and was quickly joined in by some of the more senior hunters, until it was a cheer and a roar that followed Lorenzo as Giovanni wheeled on his heels and thundered out of the secured courtyard, clattering onto the cobbled streets and heading in a suitably dramatic gallop out towards the outskirts of Firenze. 

Lorenzo had expected him to slow, but instead, Giovanni's legs stretched, and the destrier flew into an impossible, flying gallop, faster than even the beautifully bred race horses in Lorenzo's stables. "You'll get winded," Lorenzo warned, slapping his hand against Giovanni's neck even as he balanced himself and hung on to the thick mane. 

Giovanni, however, merely snorted in amusement, and continued to eat up the ground in his impossible speed. Frustrated, Lorenzo gave up, and eventually, reluctantly, started to enjoy himself. Not even his prized Marcello could compare to this, this flowing gait like flying itself. Within his mind, Lorenzo recalculated the time it would take to reach Venezia. They wouldn't have to waste time stopping somewhere to rest, if Giovanni truly could keep this up. 

He was so distracted by Giovanni's speed that it was only half an hour into their thundering pace that Lorenzo remembered to feel unease. The road they were following was absolutely empty save for them, and had long fallen into disrepair, as the political relationships between the remaining human freeholds had deteriorated with the passing of the years. Lorenzo no longer even remembered which people had first made the great trade routes. Who would have dared think of such a thing? Perhaps there had not been so many vampires then. He himself had never been out of the walls of Firenze after dark, save for that one time in the church.

The trueblood _famiglia_ had mostly kept to their traditional territories for centuries, though, and this route - until the recent century - had been of no concern to them. Something had stirred up the Pazzi and the Borgia, when Lorenzo had been a child. They had started to ravage even the neutral lands, swallowing up small freeholds and communes. The freeholds, mildly fractious even before, had quickly begun to squabble, and then now-

Lorenzo sighed. Caterina Sforza had steadfastly refused to respond to his missives, ever since he had mentioned allying with the Auditore. At least her holdings remained free, but he suspected that she would ever view Firenze now with hostility. Easy as it was to understand the hatred that many freehold humans had of the vampires, in Lorenzo's opinion, this hatred was shortsighted. Diplomatic overtures to the Ottoman Empire, however unsuccessful at the end, had still convinced him that better ways existed to survive.

Giovanni began to slow only when Lorenzo could dimly see the outlines of Venezia against the moonlit sky. They had been passing old ruined farms for a while, here and there, and some closer fields that had probably been abandoned when Robert de Sable had taken up temporary residence with his husks. Snorting, Giovanni kicked into a trot, not even lathered or out of breath, and Lorenzo looked around warily. He didn't see husks - or any humans. 

"I hope we are not too late," he murmured, and Giovanni snorted again, shaking his mane as he approached the city walls of Mestre. As they closed in, Lorenzo began to fear the worst. They had skirted around Padua, Bologna and Ferrara on their way to Firenze, avoiding the husks that were all that were left of once freehold cities. Even husks would not survive long: it might take months, but eventually, they would die, and then only ghosts would remain to haunt the old cities. 

Mestre was too silent. No guards hailed them at the shattered gates, and as Giovanni trotted through into the city proper, Lorenzo frowned as he heard a faint moaning, hissing chorus that grew louder the further they ventured through narrowing stone streets. These husks were probably Emilio Barbarigo's: Robert's camp had been further out from Mestre, and according to Altaïr the husks there had just milled about the immediate countryside.

"Clean up this place," Lorenzo decided quietly, then hesitated. "Unless that would overstretch you. Venezia is the prize."

Giovanni, however, merely snorted again, and continued to trot towards the port. As they passed, Lorenzo heard the moaning, hissing sounds from the dark around them spike louder, then abruptly get cut off: he blinked, then looked down briefly - and regretted it. Under Giovanni's hooves, the shadows were so thick that Lorenzo could not even see the paved stones: where they walked, death was following. 

He shivered, swallowing. Not until now had he fully appreciated the tremendous power difference between an old trueblood like Giovanni and the made vampires that his hunters skirmished with, or even the Pazzi. The thought of what he had dared to do in that old church - only a relatively short amount of time ago - now stunned him with the breadth of his ignorance and ambition.

But still. Ignorance and ambition had paid off, after all. Now he was riding death itself to his long-awaited prize.

II.

"So this Rodrigo is a big shot," Desmond said finally, when Federico had given them his quick run down of the unnecessarily complex Italian _camorra_ hierarchy.

Federico flashed him a grin, even as in the shadow of the bell tower on the roof they were all perched on, Altaïr rolled his eyes. "You could say so, yes. In fact, I would say, he is at least as strong as my father." A shadow passed briefly over Federico's expression. "As strong as my father once was."

" _Basically_ ," Hastings drawled, from where he was sitting delicately and primly on the edge of the roof, looking irritable, "Some time back, the Borgia came over from Spain, where they're traditionally holed up. No one knows why. They made friends with the Barbarigo - again, a surprise to everyone - and presumably then made friends with the Pazzi, who have always been on good speaking terms with the Barbarigo." 

"Together, they pooled resources and started spreading out from Trieste and Verona, declaring war on the other _famigli_. Now they control most of Northern Italia, save for Milan, which is held by the Sforza, and Torino, held by the Savoy, their allies. For now, at least." Hastings sniffed. "They also control Roma. We're not sure whether the other coastside cities are still freehold lands."

"So your family has been fighting them for..." Desmond frowned for a moment, calculating.

"We did not care about their incursion at first," Federico shrugged. "But then they destroyed one of _famiglia_ that we were on fair terms with. Together with the N'drangheta and a few other _famigli_ , we managed to stop their spread in the South, but we were unable to prevent them from taking Roma. After that, our already loose alliance fell apart, and we decided to hold to our own territories."

"In many ways," Desmond noted dryly, "Kinda like the humans, eh?"

Hastings sniffed again, but didn't deign to respond to Desmond's comment, instead adding, "I heard they were desperate to take Roma. The battle was bitter, and they lost Silvio Barbarigo, Giovanni Borgia and a quarter of their combined forces." 

"We took our own losses," Federico said quietly, then he shrugged. "They have been in occupation for Roma for a while, but I do not think they have found what they sought. That is why they called in the foreign truebloods, no?"

"Probably. That's a good possibility, actually," Hastings conceded. 

"What _is_ it that they could want?" Altaïr cut in, frowning. "Roma was like a fortress. The security, the modified vampires, tch."

Desmond winced, but he shrugged, looking to Kadar, who avoided his eyes and plucked nervously at his sleeve. "Whatever it is," Desmond said finally, "In total, you guys have gotten rid of what, _five_ truebloods? Six, counting Robert," he added hastily, looking quickly at Altaïr. "And they're still at it. So it has to be important."

" _Obviously_ ," Hastings growled.

"No, Desmond is right," Federico cut in. "Trueblood _famiglia_ are often not... big. It is difficult for many truebloods to conceive, and of those who can, many do not even care to, being already content with their current existence and companions. And because our lifespan is so long, we treasure our lives jealously. There have been wars before, but often a single casualty would be enough for a ceasefire to be agreed on. This is unprecedented."

Altaïr shrugged. "Catch one of the Borgia's high ranked human bondsmen and drink his blood. Read his mind."

Desmond shuddered, even as beside him, Hastings pulled a face. Federico himself grimaced and looked away. "I have never drunk directly from a human. I am not sure that I will be willing to."

"Tch," Altaïr scowled. "Is this the case with the non-Borgia _famigli_?"

"Many of the southern _famigli_ have similar practices, yes." Federico's smile was earnest. "We prefer to think of our relationship with our bondsmen as symbiotic."

"People toddle along fine without getting bled for the privilege of living," Hastings said, his tone thick with disgust. "Now if you fanged gentry are done swapping old history, let's get to the point of this meeting. We don't like you, and you don't like us, but it's a waste to keep you lot around without using your special... talents. So."

"So," Federico said cheerfully, "I too have given this some thought. Your borders sit uneasily against Roma's, and the lands between Firenze and Venezia are full of husks. It would be good practice for us and useful to you." 

"Husks die eventually," Hastings pointed out.

"But they get more dangerous near the end, when they are desperate," Federico countered. "And while we are out at night, we are also scouting. So Firenze remains protected, the lands are watched over, and you can even expand your farming efforts. The city's strict rations can be improved. Everyone benefits."

"It takes time to grow crops," Hastings muttered, though he did perk up a little.

"Husks don't attack livestock, and no doubt there are still livestock about." Federico lifted a shoulder into a shrug. "These are details that your people can work out. But the plan is good, no?"

"It is good," Hastings conceded reluctantly. "Especially if you can teach Desmond here how to fly."

"Hey," Desmond objected. "I've been _trying_."

"So we become guardians of farmers and pigs?" Altaïr sneered. 

"You want blood, you work for it," Hastings shot back, and Altaïr's lip curled, but he didn't respond. "Look. The Duce will be back in a week. Once he is, he'll probably have better things for you to do, or maybe Malik will have an opinion. For now, this is the best way for all of you to keep out of our hair. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Federico looked levelly at Altaïr, who nodded curtly. "Now then," Federico added, more jovially, "Do you have a map? We should coordinate our patrols."

III.

"Can you sail a boat?" Giovanni looked at the ranks of abandoned ships and boats at the dock with open doubt.

"Well, of course not," Lorenzo said, a little helplessly. "Can't you turn into a... very big bird, perhaps?"

"If I could," Giovanni drawled, "Could I not have flown us to Venezia directly from Firenze?"

True. "At least there are still lights out there," Lorenzo squinted into the distance. "So people are still alive. That is a good sign."

"Or a bad one." Giovanni muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "Were you not here, I could fly across and check." 

"Mestre is safe enough now, is it not?"

"I would not risk it." Giovanni stalked to the edge of a pier in distaste, and looked down. "There is a boat here. I could row us across."

It was not going to be particularly dignified, but Lorenzo had other concerns. The ride from Firenze had taken perhaps three hours or so, past nightfall, and it had taken them some time to clean out the streets of Mestre. Husks probably remained within some of the buildings, especially in the dark of the cellars or sewers, but they hadn't the time to do a thorough job. Still, Lorenzo could not accurately tell how close they were to sunrise. 

"Can you get us there before the dawn?"

" _Certo_ , but you may have to talk fast when we get there, _Altezza_."

"We wait here then," Lorenzo decided, and wished he had thought to bring provisions. Blast. "Best to chance a confrontation when you have night to spare."

Giovanni nodded slowly. "We passed a castle on the way here. Perhaps we could shelter there. The provisions within may still be intact."

"I recall the building." Many of the smaller buildings had been ravaged or ruined by the berserk husks when Emilio had been killed, and there had also been signs of looting - possibly Emilio's bondsmen, now moved to an unknown locale. Much of Mestre had been gutted. 

The castle was a large, blocky building with several towers, including a tall clocktower - the Torre Civica di Mestre, if Lorenzo recalled correctly. The towers were ugly and functional, much like the rest of the squat castle: built purely for defensive purposes. In fact... "Perhaps survivors remain." Lorenzo allowed. Even with an army of husks, it was difficult to see how such a sturdy castle could have fallen.

Giovanni shrugged. "I sensed nothing. But I did not look closely within the buildings, as you instructed. These buildings are made to hold against even my kind. Their walls are thick and often laced with nuggets of silver. I cannot reach far."

It was an interesting thought. Perhaps Firenze could do with an architectural upgrade. Still thinking, Lorenzo strolled into the large square before the clocktower, and abruptly, Giovanni caught his elbow firmly, sniffing and narrowing his eyes. 

"What is it?"

"One of my kind approaches." 

Lorenzo stared questioningly at Giovanni, then he flinched as the door set at the foot of the clock tower slowly swung open. Two men stepped out - no, Lorenzo thought. Two boys, perhaps only on the cusp of manhood. One was slender, with a neat little moustache and short dark hair, his skin sun-bronzed, eyes dark and quick. He wore robes of a fashion that took Lorenzo a moment to place - the rich, brocaded and colourful fashion from the Ottoman Empire. 

Beside him was a taller young man - no, a _trueblood_ , Lorenzo corrected himself, frowning. This young man was more floridly bearded, with thick shaggy hair caught away from his face by a bright mottled yellow and green scarf. He was dressed in military vestments and breeches, with a blade at his hip, and his orange eyes fixed instantly and warily upon Giovanni.

" _İyi akşamlar_ ," Lorenzo tried, in his halting Turkish, and the slender young man grinned broadly. 

" _Buona sera_ ," he responded, in passable if heavily accented Italian. "You also have... _arkadaş_? I was told, this is not the... ah, what is the word, the _system_ in Italia."

Ah. That explained things. Lorenzo blinked. "You are another ambassador? Why are you in Mestre?"

"Oh," the young man grinned, even as his _arkadaş_ muttered something darkly beside him. "I am not an ambassador. I am, how do you say... a refugee?" 

"A refugee with an _arkadaş_?" Lorenzo blinked, surprised. Surely not. Only the powerful noble families of the Ottoman Empire warranted a vampire bond. "You have been here all this while? There was a trueblood outside Mestre, and-"

"We are good at hiding, and then the trueblood was killed, so we continued to hide," the _arkadaş_ interrupted gruffly, even as the young man opened his mouth. "What do you want?"

"Shelter for the night, then we will be on our way." Lorenzo hesitated for a moment, then he added, "I am known as Lorenzo de' Medici."

"Lorenzo!" The young man's eyebrows shot up, even as his _arkadaş_ growled, shifting into a combat-ready stance. Beside Lorenzo, Giovanni bared his teeth, letting out a low, warning hiss. "Yusuf, stop that. Calm down. _Stop_." When the _arkadaş_ grudgingly straightened up, the young man bit on his lower lip briefly, then he exhaled in a rush. "I am known as Suleiman." 

"The grandson of Sultan Bayezid?" Lorenzo asked, surprised. "What are you doing here? A refugee? From what?"

"Ah," Prince Suleiman coughed. "There has been a power struggle in the Empire. My uncle has grown in prominence, and I fell out with my father over, ah, philosophical differences. I decided to leave before my disgrace became more official. But come. There are a few hours to sunrise, and you may wish to rest."

"But-" Yusuf protested. 

"This is not our country, Yusuf," Prince Suleiman said firmly. "And we cannot hide forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was too tempting to add Yusuf and co. :( 
> 
> \--  
> Targets remaining:   
> Jacopo de' Pazzi  
> Marco Barbarigo  
> Agostino Barbarigo  
> Rodrigo Borgia  
> Cesare Borgia  
> Gioffre Borgia - Spain  
> Lucrezia Borgia   
> Vidic  
> \--


	18. Chapter 18

I.

Ezio had left at first dark, and Leonardo had emerged from some sort of private negotiations between Maria and Mario at the main villa looking tired and grim. He approached Malik at the battlements and managed a forced smile, his thick sandy hair pushed back absently over his ears. "You should be resting."

Malik sniffed, and continued glaring back over the walls. " _You_ should be resting."

"Ah, the night is young yet," Leonardo said wryly, pressing his elbows onto the stone beside Malik, who frowned at him. His bound ribs still ached, despite the poultice that Leonardo had applied, he felt stiff all over, and he felt old before his time, left behind, and restless. 

Masyaf had been besieged before, of course: the trueblood presence around it - particularly in Damascus - was fiercer than Italia, but Malik had never managed to get used to such disasters. He glowered out at the dark and wished he was elsewhere. Out there, his men were dying, in defence of the world's worst breeds of monster. He didn't like it, as much as he understood Lorenzo's logic. There was a ruthlessness to Lorenzo that Malik admired as much as he sometimes disliked.

"How did the meeting go?" Malik asked finally, out of a lack of anything else to say.

"As I thought it would. They cannot truly afford to exile Ezio in an real capacity at present, especially since Giovanni and Federico are away. So he will be allowed to return, because I am still here. Mario did give me his protection, after all."

Malik snorted. "Edicts of convenience."

"It is a difficult situation for them," Leonardo rebuked him gently, then he sighed. "And it will get more difficult."

"Why do you say that?"

"Lorenzo mentioned to me in his last missive that he is about to mount an attack on Venezia." 

" _Now_?"

"Now is the best time, tactically. And he need only use Giovanni. Nothing short of another trueblood can stand against an elder of their kind, even weakened as Giovanni is. As far as our scouts have ascertained, Rodrigo is currently committed on too many fronts to shore up his defence of Venezia at present."

"That's news to me," Malik muttered irritably, and Leonardo flashed him a smile.

"Ah, if you were resting as you should have been, you would have seen the message come in, _amico mio_."

"The Borgia still have many truebloods under their command," Malik continued gruffly, ignoring the jibe. "Surely they can afford another one at Venezia."

" _Certo_ ," Leonardo inclined his head. "But I do not think that very many of the Borgia's allies can take on Giovanni, except perhaps Rodrigo himself, and maybe Cesare. So I will not be too worried. Rodrigo himself will know this. We know that one trueblood is besieging the Sforza, and another the Savoy. There are at least two within Roma, and very likely one within the traditional Pazzi territories and one in the Barbarigo holdings. I will be very surprised if Michelotto were _not_ accompanied by one, even with the, ah, monsters."

"...so," Malik said slowly, as he did the math, "You are saying that all the trueblood Templars that we know of in Italia are currently accounted for?"

"Oh no," Leonardo said wryly. "After all, we do know that there are more than just Francesco, Vieri and Jacopo about in the Pazzi _famiglia_. I was going to say, strategically speaking, on the balance of probabilities I expect Rodrigo and Vidic to be in Roma. Cesare Borgia is likely here, perhaps with his sister, perhaps not. As to the others, I do not think they will trouble Giovanni overmuch."

"Unless they gang up on him."

"That is possible, although traditionally improbable: even when the Pazzi were assaulting Firenze, they tended to do so singly. In any case, I am sure that Lorenzo would call for a retreat if the situation was untenable."

"That's a lot of guesswork," Malik grunted, though he felt a chill curl through him at Leonardo's words. Leonardo had never been wrong before where his deductions were concerned, as far as Malik could remember. So Cesare was here.

And Rebecca and the others were still out there.

"What concerns me further," Leonardo added, "Are the reports that Rebecca had not seen any siege engines in Michelotto's forces." 

Malik shrugged. "Rebecca is not the most observant of hunters, and besides, what with her first cavalry charge and setting fire to carriages with alchemist's fire - I cannot _believe_ that you fit such a dangerous thing into _boltheads_ \- I am sure she simply did not see them."

"I wonder," Leonardo mused, narrowing his eyes.

"Why?" Experience had taught Malik not to discount Leonardo's intuition, as well. "What do you see, old friend?"

"When I became the Duce's advisor I set my art aside," Leonardo said quietly, staring out over the walls. "I have read every book of strategy that I could lay my hands on, over the years. It was a matter of survival - not just of myself, but also of my friends. And I think that Michelotto is no fool. Engines would have razed that town quickly and efficiently. They would have been gone with minimal casualties by the time Rebecca and the others reached it, rather than engage in protracted street fighting."

"They wanted to draw us out?"

"Aye, they did. They wanted us to seek vengeance, or perhaps, to seek to protect and evacuate a commune of people all the way back here." 

Refugees had been trickling in since the late afternoon, and the gates were still open, admitting in a steady stream of frightened civilians. "The refugees have not been attacked."

"No, my friend," Leonardo smiled thinly. "But our gates are open."

"Did you... did you tell Maria and Mario to..." Malik's voice trailed off. The refugees may be bondsmen, but they were still _humans_ , many of them non-combatants: the old and children and others who had been untrained in combat. "We can't shut them out."

"No, of course not." Leonardo pointed upwards, and Malik tipped up his head. High above, three small white specks were slowly circling Monteriggioni and its immediate vicinity. Maria, Petruccio and Claudia were guarding their people. 

"That should be enough."

" _Certo_ ," Leonardo said quietly, "Enough, if La Volpe was here."

"You expect an attack. On Monteriggioni." Malik blinked. "With the siege weapons. Surely the approach of an army would have been seen by now."

"You yourself saw the great shadow cloud of the monster that La Volpe pulled from the sky," Leonardo murmured, with another pointed glance outwards, over the battlements. "I think perhaps it may have more immediate, tactical uses."

Leonardo began to stroll away, and Malik hastily stepped to his side, demanding angrily, "And you did not seek to warn anyone _else_ of your suspicions?"

"Maria is watching for it. There is no need to sow panic as yet." Leonardo's quick strides eventually brought them to one of his new cannon, already mounted at the battlements, its sleek, black flanks intricately caught with silver filigree, its base settled as one into a great, revolvable dial in the rock. Leonardo patted its side quickly, as though petting a barely-trained, vicious dog. 

"This is for you. Its range is longer than a normal cannon, and it will be more accurate. Its ammunition is silver-based. Michel here will help you with the loading. There will be others soon."

"Cannon will do nothing against the black shadow of a trueblood."

"Ah," Leonardo's smile was tired again, the smile of an inventor of warmachines who was, at heart, a peaceful soul. "This one is... a little different."

II.

Something was definitely wrong, no matter what cute Captain Sebastian thought of Michelotto's caution. Intermittent strike forces had been sent against them now and then and driven back, and eventually, La Volpe had arrived with a relief force. Thankfully, the cantankerous Immortal had immediately relinquished default control of the mixed bag of _condottieri_ and Firenze guardsmen to Sebastian and had climbed up the roof to sit next to her, where he had promptly been of no use whatsoever during the next few skirmishes.

"Are you even awake?" Rebecca asked finally, as the sun sank slowly over the horizon.

"My usefulness is done," La Volpe gestured dramatically at the organised ranks of men fortifying the streets with barricades of repurposed furniture from the commune. "The relief force is here, and on time."

"I bet Michelotto was surprised."

"Not surprised enough to draw back. As I thought." La Volpe lifted a shoulder briefly into a shrug. "This is only a diversion."

"A... wait, so I'm _right_?"

The Immortal sniffed, and ignored that. "Still, it might be a good thing. It is a most costly diversion. Part of his army is pinned, including at least one of those carriages. He has taken losses."

"It's just a waiting game for them." It was going to be all dark soon. Rebecca tried hard to feel nonchalant as always.

La Volpe grunted, but didn't respond further. Together, they watched the last of the sun's light dip away into the clouds, and Rebecca shifted her weight on the roof of the old church, peering into the deep shadows beyond the ring of torches that the _condottieri_ had set up at the perimeter. 

Refugees remained as yet inside the church, but a winding, flickering line of light in the distance indicated that those who had escaped were still making their way towards Monteriggioni. She tried not to think about how insane the trip was in the dark, and hoped that the Borgia armies were too busy with bigger targets to care about women and children.

Hopefully.

"It comes," La Volpe said suddenly, getting to his feet. He barely raised his voice, but below them, _condottieri_ darted glances at the church roof, then hastily away into the dark, as if they had all heard. 

And then it was there. A towering, monstrous hulk of a thing, higher than the church steeple, lumbering through into the narrow streets of the commune. It roared dully into the night, a cacophonous harmony from hundreds of mouths, shouldering through crashing and crumbling rubble to get at the ring of fire, its huge hands crushing masonry and slate as it began to _charge_.

"Fire! Fire at will!" Sebastian yelled from the ranks of the condottieri, and the beast shrilled as hundreds of silver arrowheads thudded into its gelatinous flesh. It staggered, flattening a row of terraces, then righted itself as the disc on its wrist glowed briefly.

"Right, then," Rebecca muttered, aiming her own crossbow. The bolt with its alchemist's fire slammed high on the monster's gigantic wrist, spilling liquid fire down over its fingers and palm. It didn't seem to notice the pain, dripping fire as it continued to shamble forward towards the barricade along the widest boulevard in the streets-

-only for its roar to be cut off abruptly as an explosion beneath its feet punched a slew of cobblestones and dirt and silver fragments _upwards_. "Yes!" Rebecca snarled, as the carefully hidden powder barrels ignited one after another, first shattering the beast's ankles, and then as it fell, writhing and screaming, pulverised its groping hands into gobbets. The fleshy monster went still, twitching and groaning, and dissolved into separate, flesh-like bodies.

Beside her, La Volpe unclenched his fist. "Lucky." 

"Sebastian totally had that under control," Rebecca retorted, as below the church, the _condottieri_ and guardsmen cheered. 

"There is yet one more." La Volpe pointed into the shadows, and then began to sketch a symbol into the air, even as Rebecca grit her teeth and reloaded her crossbow laboriously with a silver shaft - she had run out of Leonardo's special bolts. She had been hoping that the second carriage hadn't been recovered. The commune hadn't had enough gunpowder for more than _one_ trap. 

A great shadow twisting at the edges of the town _surged_ upwards, then fell back down as La Volpe hastily gestured. Rebecca took in a slow, steady breath, aiming her crossbow, then she saw movement at the corner of her eye and whirled, firing on instinct. 

The silver-laced shaft caught the trueblood shadow by surprise, and it reformed into its humanoid form briefly before crashing off the roof. _Jacopo de' Pazzi_. Fear shook through her - Rebecca knew she had no chance whatsoever against a trueblood, and- "Can you hold them both?" 

"No!" La Volpe grit his teeth. He seemed to make some decision, sketching another symbol in the air, and this time, when Jacopo's shadow shot up at them, it seemed to slam off an invisible wall, splashing away around them like an evil, ink-black wave. 

Rebecca risked a look back at the flesh creature, and nearly backed away off the roof in fright. It had flowed forward, like an inexorable wave, scattering those at the barricade and consuming those that did not get out of its reach. Screams rose, high and maddened and agonised, before becoming abruptly cut off, and the black tide was advancing, further, to consume them all.

Lucy had been right after all, Rebecca thought, and fought the mildly hysterical urge to giggle. Fuck.

A falcon tore out of the sky at that moment, plummeting with a shriek of challenge. It was black, with powerful wings, and a gleam of something - silver? - about its talons. It ripped through the back of the black wave, causing it to flinch back with pain, driving it away again and again from the retreating humans. 

"Reloaded?" La Volpe snarled beside her. "Don't get distracted, woman!"

"Reloaded, you old coot," Rebecca growled back, hefting her crossbow. 

"Then pay attention!" he barked, even as he clenched both his hands together before him with another complex gesture. Abruptly, the shadows near the tip of the roof turned into a very surprised looking human-shaped Jacopo, even as Rebecca levelled her bow and fired. 

The bolt caught him on the knee as Jacopo leaped sharply up to avoid it; the impact slapped him back, skittering on the tiles and snarling as he dragged himself further up against the roof. "Kill you, kill you both, _kill_ you," he was growling, as he grit his teeth and grabbed the shaft of the crossbow bolt, yanking it viciously out of his leg even as Rebecca hastily tried to reload again, pressing her foot into the stirrup and yanking. He twisted, and was suddenly a huge, rangy cat, crouching to spring even as Rebecca gave up on her crossbow, dropping it at her feet and drawing her silver blades. 

Then the giant shadow monster was flesh, careening and roaring and smashing against the side of the church with a sound like the start of the end of the world - stone shattered, tiles fractured as its flailed and slammed a fist through the bell tower. Rebecca grabbed La Volpe by the shoulder hastily and dragged them both in a wild jump off the roof even as the huge fist swiped through the air where they had been.

They landed in an ungainly heap, thankfully only badly bruised, in a heap of stinking old hay and compost in the church garden: Rebecca yelping, La Volpe spitting curses in a language she didn't recognise. Dazed, she stared up, in time to see the falcon dive out of her line of sight. La Volpe was staggering to his feet, gasping and winded, looking about wildly, then he started to trace another, far more complex symbol: only for the great cat to burst out of the shadow behind the well and leap for his throat.

Rebecca somehow managed to get to her feet and jump all in a rush. Her shoulder collided hard with the cat's ribs, landing them in a spitting, scratching, ripping tangle in the vegetable bed, gouging soil and plants up as they went. She got in a good stab with her blade before a swing of the cat's paw sent her rolling, her sides burning with pain, even as behind her, La Volpe cried, "Once bound, then twice bound, now thrice bound!" 

Jacopo had lunged at her, but instead of disembowelling her, he fell abruptly to the ground instead, as though all the momentum had swept out of him. As he writhed on the soil, screeching thinly, La Volpe shouted, "Well? I can't hold him forever!"

"Oh, fuck my life," Rebecca yelled back, breathing painfully and shallowly as she forced herself to her knees, dropping one knife and grabbing the other in both hands. She half-crawled, half staggered to Jacopo's body, and with a prayer bitten in her breath, sent the blade stabbing down through Jacopo's skull with all her weight. 

Jacopo _shrieked_ , bucking wildly, eyes wide with disbelief and shock and horror, then he scattered into gray ash.

"You..." Rebecca gulped, as La Volpe collapsed into a kneeling heap, "You could have fucking done that _earlier_."

"Be grateful," La Volpe snapped back, "A three-way binding takes time. Time that _you_ had to give _me_."

She had killed a _trueblood_. Granted, with La Volpe's obvious help, but she had gone toe to toe with it. A _trueblood_. Her, Rebecca Crane.

"Malik's never going to believe me," Rebecca murmured, with a hiccup of hysterical laughter that was instantly swallowed in another, horrendous crash against the church. Realisation struck. "There's people in there!"

"You're in no condition to move," La Volpe snapped, but Rebecca had hauled herself to her feet, staggering towards the church. She skittered back, falling over as a sudden impact rocked the ground, and as she looked back over her shoulder, she saw that impossibly, the giant was on its knees, roaring and clawing at the air as its falcon tormentor cut into it methodically, blinding its many eyes, even as braver _condottieri_ and guardsmen festooned it with lancers and silver arrows. The monster was _slowing_.

As its hand swept near the church roof, shadows sprang out from the slate, dragging down the wrist, slowing its sweep just in time for the falcon to dart down, silver-armed claws outstretched, striking the disc squarely in its centre. 

Rebecca could feel the shockwave from the breaking disc even where she lay. The falcon let out a cry of surprise as it was smashed out of the air, landing heavily against an oak tree several metres away from the church, hard enough to splinter even the gigantic old trunk, stunning it. The second monster was splitting apart, even as there were cries of dismay from the enemy army engaged with the other guardsmen and _condottieri_ behind it and in the streets. 

A fierce, rallying roar welled up from the Auditore forces, and despite herself, Rebecca found herself joining in, shouting herself hoarse, trying again to get to her feet. "The Auditore! The Auditore! Death and victory!"


	19. Chapter 19

I.

There were, to Lorenzo's surprise, _people_ in the castle: at least a hundred or more, as far as he could tell, packed into every possible living space. The old stone stank of it: compressed humans, fear, the hint of refuse, cooking, oil - it was unpleasant, and Lorenzo didn't need to look at Giovanni to know that the trueblood was thoroughly unhappy about it, with his heightened senses.

"Survivors?" Lorenzo asked Suleiman, as they squeezed through a corridor, watched by rows and rows of men, women and children whom stopped what they were doing to stare at them in surprise. Their eyes darted often to Giovanni's orange eyes, in wary curiosity, then to Lorenzo's robes of office, dusty as they were with travel. 

"Aye, from this city. Not all of them." Suleiman nodded. "We gathered them and hid them in here. This is the only castle... special... silver..." Suleiman hesitated, frowning slightly. "Properly built? No, that is not the word either."

"Reinforced against truebloods."

"Yes, yes. Not just the silver," Suleiman added with a smile. "But the stone remembers."

"The stone remembers?"

"There is a... great mage, among your people here? He is known as 'Fox'?"

"La Volpe?" Lorenzo looked around himself with greater curiosity. "He can bless stone? Against truebloods?"

"Not... not..." Suleiman trailed off again, and looked beseechingly at Yusuf, who pointedly ignored him, scowling instead at his feet. "I have not the words for the procedure," Suleiman said finally, apologetically. "It is to turn their minds."

"Giovanni said that he could not reach far within." Lorenzo recalled. "The silver and the protections blind them?"

"Once a common aspect of construction, when we still warred against humans," Giovanni said tonelessly. He looked hunted and uncomfortable, as though not only the noise and scents of the people about them hemmed him in, but the weight of the castle itself. "But then the magus-kind grew rare in this corner of the world, and the art was thought forgotten."

"Rare," Yusuf spoke up, his tone sharp and so sudden that Lorenzo nearly flinched at its venom. "All killed."

"So it is." Giovanni met the other trueblood's eyes unflinchingly, and eventually, Yusuf was the one who looked away.

They spent the rest of the walk in an uncomfortable silence. With the castle so fully occupied, space had to be carved out of a storage chamber for Giovanni and Lorenzo, and Suleiman was apologetic. "If all the husks are gone from the city as you say, then this will be temporary. We will speak on this tomorrow."

Lorenzo had a cold supper of bread, ham and water, but he wasn't truly hungry, and the wild ride from Firenze combined with the clean up in Mestre had tired him. Suleiman was companionable through the supper, but eventually he and Yusuf excused themselves, and Lorenzo was alone in the storage chamber with Giovanni, who was sitting cross-legged on a stack of crates, as close to the narrow open window as he could without touching the stone.

"We could have sheltered elsewhere," Giovanni said flatly, without looking at him. "Instead of this stinking, crowded refuse heap."

"The people you see here will be my allies once Venezia proper is secured." Lorenzo settled himself on a heap of clean, if old rags, reading the scrawled labels on the crates. Most of these were just household items - empty jars and bottles, raw materials, paper and tools: everything useful for immediate survival like food, blankets and clothes had already been scavenged. 

How long had the survivors settled in here? How long had the Barbarigo been in control of Mestre and Venezia? "How did you know that Emilio was here?" Lorenzo asked finally, when Giovanni said nothing. 

"We hear things." Giovanni said vaguely.

"From?"

There was a soft exhalation. "Castelfranco Veneto was close by."

The Scaligeri _famiglia_ 's holdings. "Was?"

"The Pazzi and the Barbarigo wiped them out." Giovanni shrugged. "There were never that many of them to begin with, and Can Francesco and Guglielmo were comparatively young. Most of their bondsmen fled to Milan, or Mestre. When Mestre too, fell, some of the bondsmen came to us."

"Not Firenze?" Lorenzo asked, all unthinking, and Giovanni barked a low, harsh laugh.

"No freehold lands are truly safe after all. Or so they thought. Regardless, they were the ones who told us that Emilio Barbarigo had remained in Mestre."

Lorenzo frowned, all too aware now that with the collapse of diplomatic relations with Caterina, his knowledge of the northern parts of Italia was sadly limited. Once the matter of Venezia and the attack on Giovanni's lands was settled, perhaps he and Malik would have to organise a roster of scouts. Or use the freed made vampires to better effect, if they could. He was not so sure how far he could trust them yet.

"That trueblood," Giovanni said into the silence, startling Lorenzo out of his calculations, "He was weak."

"Yusuf?" Lorenzo recalled, puzzled. "You can sense it?"

"I have never met one of the Ottoman vampires," Giovanni said quietly. "Not that I recall. Yusuf is perhaps only a little stronger than a made vampire." 

"Well," Lorenzo noted, surprised, "Made vampires don't usually get to your age, and besides, the Ottoman bond is made at birth. Yusuf is Suleiman's age, and I think that the Prince is perhaps not even yet twenty winters old."

"Ah," Giovanni said, his tone uneasy. "Yes, of course." 

"What is the matter?"

"It is..." Giovanni hesitated. "Lorenzo, would you humans allow an infant child to venture about by itself?"

"No, of course not, we-" Lorenzo paused. Twenty years was a tiny drop in the lifespan of a trueblood. "Your... youngest child, Petruccio, is older?"

"Far older, by your years. He has lived on this earth for longer than you have, _Altezza_ , longer than you and your father and grandfather combined, and yet we deem him too young for the world." 

That was an insane thing to contemplate. Lorenzo had never known how long-lived the truebloods were. "Is that it? I thought that you did not like him."

"Can you dislike an infant that misbehaves?"

"He seemed rather more lucid than an infant to me."

Giovanni greeted that comment with a long silence, and then added, "Perhaps it is different in the Empire. But even his human seems too young to be about by himself."

"He is. But by all reports, Prince Suleiman is an exceptionally bright young man," Lorenzo recalled. "So I am sure that his fears were not unfounded."

"I cannot imagine it," Giovanni said thoughtfully. "An entire race of truebloods who intentionally shorten their lives. Who would die as yet children." Another edge of disgust. "Who would beget children while they are children."

"Let's not... visit that thought, _per favore_ ," Lorenzo said weakly. "As you said, perhaps it is different in the Empire. But enough of such matters. I need rest, and so do you."

Giovanni snorted, and pushed himself off the crates. As he landed, his form blurred, turning into a huge wolf, longer than Lorenzo was tall, which snuffled as it nudged its furry bulk against Lorenzo. Irritated, Lorenzo pushed at the thick fur, but when Giovanni didn't budge, he hesitated, then stopped. Giovanni was not warm, not like a real wolf would have been, but curled against the fur with the rest of the rags and his robes, the chill would be far more bearable. 

Grateful, Lorenzo petted the thick ruff of fur absently before he froze, unsure if Giovanni would take offence - but when the wolf merely huffed, he ventured so far as to tickle behind Giovanni's ears as well, smiling faintly as the wolf's great tail thumped briefly against the rags. Eventually he slept, warm and comfortable, his cares fading into a melange of cinnamon and earth and copper.

II.

Breakfast was also cold, but there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air within the large eating halls of the castle. Lorenzo sat at a table in the corner of the hall with Suleiman, picking through the meagre offerings, more interested in watching the buzz of energy and movement around them.

Like many of the large rooms in the castle, the eating hall had high windows that flooded the space with sunlight. An irritable Giovanni had protested roundly when Lorenzo had made his decision to eat with the survivors of Mestre, and had still been fuming when Lorenzo had talked him into staying within the cellar network with Yusuf. Admittedly, Yusuf had not looked happy about the arrangement either, but had grudgingly nodded after a hushed discussion in Turkish with Suleiman.

"They are going to explore. I have told them, there are possibly no more husks." Suleiman explained, grinning. "That you and Giovanni have rid the city of them."

Oh. That explained the almost reverent nature of the glances thrown their way, and why the table they had chosen had been quickly vacated with averted eyes. Lorenzo had instinctively taken the respect for granted - it was what he was used to in Firenze, after all: but it occurred to him belatedly that it had blinded him to an obvious development.

"I do not think Giovanni was that thorough. No doubt there are still husks indoors, or-"

"There have been a few scouts, and besides, last night, Yusuf took a quick look when you rested. The city is indeed, mostly clean. We will be careful when we check the houses." 

"We?" Lorenzo picked up, amused.

"Ah," Suleiman looked a little embarrassed. "Well, although it had little to do with us, Emilio Barbarigo was disinclined to rout the survivors from this castle. The few husks that were sent by, Yusuf quickly destroyed, so, perhaps, Yusuf and I may feel a little responsible, I think. They befriended us when we thought we would find no friends here."

Lorenzo nodded slowly. "The Barbarigo may be back."

"Yes. Mestre will be difficult to hold." Suleiman agreed. "That is why you will take Venezia, no?" At Lorenzo's frown, the young Prince smiled faintly. "Why else would _il Magnifico_ come to Mestre? Why, to cross to Venezia, to take it for himself. In Venezia you will be safe from the Templar."

"You know of the Templar?"

"They are a cancer that has spread. Even in the Ottoman Empire." Suleiman exhaled slowly. "I have my suspicions. No decent Ottoman citizen would truly wish to have dealings with an unbound trueblood, of course, but greed and power have corrupted many decent people."

"That is a sentiment that perhaps you and Yusuf should keep to yourselves for now," Lorenzo advised, if with some amusement.

"Why? Are you not bound to Giovanni?"

"By accident." 

"Accident?" Suleiman repeated, looking surprised, and Lorenzo found himself giving the young Prince a rough breakdown of the gambit, the war to date, their actions - or, at least he tried. Suleiman kept returning to the night of the old church, his eyes round with shock. "You should have died," he kept saying, awed. " _Özür dilerim_ , but it is true."

"Leaving that aside," Lorenzo said, with a touch of impatience, but Suleiman interrupted, if apologetically.

"And it is not a good thing, even now. I hear that these unbound vampires, these _meçkey_ , they drink very much of the life water. Blood." Suleiman shuddered. " _Canavarlar._ They have not learned to be civilised."

"Another dangerous sentiment," Lorenzo said, trying for jovial humour. 

"No, no. Your _arkadaş_ , he will take more from you than you can give. In the end, he will kill you both." Suleiman looked openly worried. "Because he cannot stop."

"So far it has not been so bad." Lorenzo fought the urge to touch the scar at his neck. "I will take the risk."

"And this... thing that the Templar have found in Roma." Suleiman frowned. "I cannot imagine what it could be."

"It is not important as yet. I need to cross to Venezia. Can any of these Mestre survivors crew a ship?"

"Certainly - or, if you prefer," Suleiman grinned, "Yusuf and I could take you. Our ship is still docked at the port. We crossed the Adriatic to get here rather than attempt to venture through the Templar-held territories about Trieste. A little hop to Venezia itself will be nothing." 

"That would be very helpful," Lorenzo agreed, relieved. "And if Yusuf can offer any help while we scour Venezia of husks and its Templar influence, that would be very appreciated as well." 

"I will speak with the people here," Suleiman nodded. "Many have family in Venezia. Perhaps we can get more help."

"No need," Lorenzo decided. "Mestre is in need of reconstruction. No doubt many of them wish to return to their homes. We can manage." Besides, Giovanni was unsettled enough that Lorenzo did not want to add more unknowns into the fire. "Still," he added, when Suleiman looked a little chastened, "It would be good to take a walk around the city in the daylight. I should like to see how much of Mestre I have missed in the dark."

"Ah, _anlıyorum_." Suleiman grinned boyishly, and got to his feet. "I have not yet seen Italia during the daytime. Yusuf is always so worried, you see."

"No doubt exile weighs heavily on him." 

"Oh - yes," Suleiman's expression fell briefly. "He does miss his family. Our home. But you see," Suleiman added, with a sigh, "Had we stayed, they themselves would have cut him down. The human host does not survive the death of his _arkadaş_. And it will not be a pleasant death. So we had to leave, for both our sakes." The Prince's smile was wry. "I did not think that we would run right into the midst of another war."

III.

"Our last reports about Italia are... ten years, ten years before." Yusuf's Italian was slowly improving, though sometimes he still lapsed into an irritable, muttering Turkish. "So we did not know about this war."

"Why did you not leave immediately? No doubt you could have scavenged supplies." 

"We could, but the Mestre people need it more. It would have been... greed, ah no, selfish," Yusuf frowned. "Was that right word?"

Giovanni nodded slowly. He was sitting on a barrel in the cellar, while Yusuf was in the other corner of the room, close to the door, perched on a crate, restlessly shifting his weight. The very young trueblood had spent the first hour pointedly ignoring Giovanni's attempts at conversation, and had only responded when Giovanni had bored of it and had shifted into his wolf form, thinking to explore the cellar complex. 

"So the both of you helped them."

"Ah," Yusuf made an expressive, flattening gesture with his graceful hands. "Not much. You helped more," he added grudgingly. "Kill all the _ubır_." 

"You could have done that. You are a trueblood as well."

"Maybe if I was _meçkey_ ," Yusuf's expression twisted briefly into disgust. "Like you were."

Giovanni sighed, and kept a tight grip on his temper, reminding himself yet again that the brash, outspoked trueblood before him was younger than Petrucchio by far. His kind had no compunctions about murdering each other, as a whole, particularly over territory, but there existed within many of them a special distaste for hurting the young, rare as they were - at least in Italia. 

As it was, after a moment, Yusuf muttered, " _Özür dilerim_ ," and looked abashed, picking nervously at the fabric of his breeches. "But surely you know, the more you use the shadow, the more you will need to drink. It is not a gift lightly given by your bonded." 

"Ah." Giovanni hadn't known that. Guiltily, he wondered how often he had used the shadow to do simple things, like snuff out a candle or fetch a cup, even after the church. Wielding shadow had been second nature to him since he could remember. If its use truly did increase his thirst...

Come to think of it, he _had_ been hungry for blood ever since the cleansing of Mestre. He had taken blood from Lorenzo only a day ago, at that. If they had to cleanse Venezia- "Thank you for the insight, Yusuf."

"You do not know because you used to take the life gift from many, yes?" Yusuf pointed out, his lip curled. "Many have paid the shadow price for you, in your place."

Stung, Giovanni growled, "My bondsmen live freely and well."

"But their souls are touched. You send them to the halls of Karash Han no matter what they have done in life to right the scales."

"Superstition."

"You can turn into a great wolf," Yusuf said pityingly, "Purge a town of _ubır_ with a thought, walk full in a cloak of shadow, and you think that creation holds nothing stranger?"

"I have lived for a very long time, _pup_ ," Giovanni said flatly. "Long enough to believe that the gods, if any, have little to do with the workings of the world." 

"So it is with the _meçkey_ ," Yusuf observed, rather annoyingly, and Giovanni had to close his eyes briefly and count to ten. Irritatingly enough, Yusuf did not get the hint. "You see, you of the _meçkey_ think you are whole. But you are not. The Children of Two Worlds need two souls. You are born with only one. So, our kind, we are born... the word... insane. We are born insane. In the Empire, at birth we are bound to a human soul - a... true one soul, to balance. So we become sane."

" _I_ feel little different." 

"Perhaps, wrong word," Yusuf conceded, and looked frustrated. "Suleiman will have better words. I will ask." 

"To us," Giovanni said mildly, "You of the Ottoman Empire are the ones who are insane. Our kind can live for hundreds of years. And yet you will bind yourself to a short-lived human. You will die long before our kind even count themselves full-grown."

"We _live_ ," Yusuf corrected, narrowing his eyes. "You are the ones who are dead. Tell me you have never felt it," he added challengingly, when Giovanni opened his mouth to correct him. "Until your accident, were you not different?" 

"I was stronger."

"No. You _thought_ you were stronger. Now you are _better_. Now you live. Now you know, what it is _like_ to _live_." Yusuf's tone was so earnestly fierce that Giovanni swallowed his amusement, leaning forward to clasp his hands together.

There was truth to Yusuf's words. An ugly truth to it all. Giovanni was old enough to be honest to himself over that much. "You may be right," he conceded finally, and Yusuf nodded, sitting back.

"If you understand that," he conceded. "Then perhaps Erlik will not take your soul when you are judged."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: MINOR CANON CHARACTER DEATH(S)

I.

Ezio woke to an insistent, painful prodding in his side. Blinking awake, he looked blearily up to see the human woman, Rebecca, straighten up gingerly, the long stick she had been using to poke his ribs pausing in the air.

"He's up!" 

"About gods damned time," La Volpe growled, shuffling over to glower at Ezio. "Can you fly?" 

Ezio raised a wing awkwardly, winced, tried to right himself, and fell over into the soft soil, scrabbling and flapping, hissing with surprise. 

"Thought not," La Volpe grunted. "Can't change back either, can you?" 

"Maybe if we get the silver off his feet?" Rebecca asked doubtfully.

"He was hit point blank by the null impact of the spell breaking," La Volpe scowled. "He'll be addled for a while. Pick him up and toss him into a saddlebag or something. We've got to move."

Ezio let out a squawk of outrage, even as Rebecca sighed. "Okay, look. Uh. I'll find some cloth, and you can roll onto it, and we'll get one of your bondsmen to carry you if you don't want a grubby freehold hunter handling your pretty little fucking feathers, all right?"

Chastened, Ezio lowered his beak, shuffling his wings onto his back. He looked about - he had been knocked out when he had hit the tree battling the monster, but Jacopo...? Where had - ah. His sharp, falcon's eyes settled on the odd gritty dust over the ravaged vegetable garden, an odd colour against the dirt. At his chirp, Rebecca nodded. "La Volpe and I took care of Jacopo de' Pazzi. Sorry if you wanted to do it yourself."

Shaking his head, Ezio managed at a second time to get on his feet, if feeling a little shaky until he concentrated. When he glanced up again, Rebecca was rooting around the garden shed, pulling out some old sacking and wrapping it tight around her left arm with twine. She limped back over to him, lowering her am and letting him climb on.

"Fuck, you're heavy," Rebecca grunted. "All right, let's get back. Your _condottieri_ are pretty mauled, and we've lost Sebastian. Michelotto got away, but other than that, we've come up tops. La Volpe's worried that this is all a feint, though, so he's going to magic us back to Monteriggioni."

Ezio nodded gravely, careful not to grip too tightly in case his talons cut into the sackcloth. The cunning craftsmanship of the silver braces at his claws flattened harmlessly down when he perched, sheathing themselves in leather - only when his claws were curled to strike would they be pulled free. He waited impatiently as one of the _condottieri_ pulled a horse over for Rebecca and helped her on, strapping her to the saddle as she grimaced. Under her bloodied, rent vest, Ezio could see fresh bandages, and he chirped again, glancing at them.

"Me? I'm fine. They hurt like a bitch at first, but I had some of Leonardo's field kit in my saddlebags. Not too deep, and they were clean." Rebecca was very pale, however. "I can make it back. How're your wings?"

Ezio stretched his wings again, carefully. They didn't seem broken, although from how pain flared down the joints, he suspected perhaps that the bones had cracked. Shifting uncomfortably, he folded them again, and Rebecca nodded. "All right, you just... hang in there, then." 

The dizziness had faded by the time Sebastian's replacement had coordinated the remaining _condottieri_ between remaining to tend to and help the wounded onto wagons for a later, slower return to Monteriggioni, and joining the Firenze guardsmen. La Volpe was clearly anxious and irritable, which didn't help the tension, but eventually, all who were hale and could go were mounted. 

Ezio gripped tight as Rebecca nudged her horse into a canter, then he let out a squawk of surprise as the world blurred - and and they reappeared on the crest of a hill, looking towards Monteriggioni, only a short ride away, and- and it was- 

"Mother of God," Rebecca breathed, her eyes wide. Monteriggioni was _aflame_. 

Ezio tried to fly, only to totter awkwardly and nearly fall off his perch, but for Rebecca grabbing him and righting him quickly. An army had besieged Monteriggioni, greater in numbers than the splinter that had attacked Abbadia San Salvatore. Siege engines sat in their midst, hurling burning, pitch-soaked boulders into the city. Towering up from within the walls was a now familiar sight - another gigantic, fleshy beast, whirling heavily about as it batted at two tiny little specks, while higher up, on the battlements, a white kestrel flashed into shadow, then into a wolf that leaped up to tear at the flanks of a russet-furred lion. 

Cesare had not come to conquer. He had come to ruin the Auditore.

Even La Volpe stared, stunned by the savagery of the assault on the city. How had they gotten so _close_? Were there even any bondsmen survivors? 

He nearly lost his perch again as Rebecca stood up in her stirrups, her short silver blade punched into the sky, not even flinching at the pain that should have run through her as she did so. "Form the _fucking_ horse!" she screamed, and around her, as though woken out of a dream, guardsmen and _condottieri_ alike scrambled to obey, lining up their fractious, stamping horses. 

Wincing, Rebecca started to raise her arm to her shoulder as she settled back into her saddle, but Ezio shook his head vehemently, flaring his wings. "You sure?" she asked. When he nodded again, she grimaced. "Good hunting."

He nodded a last time, shifting his weight, wishing that he could speak - then Rebecca had launched him up into the air with a thrust of her arm. Ezio nearly faltered and fell at first, then he righted himself, ignoring the pain that burned through him as he flared his wings to catch the draft, taking himself high up over the cavalry lines even as the horses surged forward, charging down the hill, their riders' war cries melding into a single, primal roar of fury. 

The charge shattered the ranks of shocked infantry and slammed through in a wedge towards the first siege engine. Silver blades and lances sliced away at the lashings and cut down the engineers. Within the mass of breaking lines, an enemy captain shouted orders, beginning to rally his men: grimly, Ezio folded his wings and _dived_.

Silver blades punched cleanly through the captain's skull from the force of Ezio's impact, slamming him off his horse, even as Ezio managed with a somewhat awkward hop to vault himself back into the sky. As he had thought, the abrupt appearance of a trueblood frightened the surrounding bondsmen into scattering.

Tempted as he was to sow further chaos, Ezio forced himself to climb back into the air. He had to check on his family, on _Leonardo_. _Please_ , he thought wildly, as he neared the battlements, _let them be all right_ \- 

As he crested the walls, he nearly flew right into Leonardo, who flinched back in surprise and nearly backpedaled off the other side of the sturdy walls, but for Malik grabbing for him hurriedly. The two of them were furiously working to turn one of the new cannon around: part of the dais had been deconstructed, and tools and crates of ammunition were knee-deep.

"What the... is that you, Ezio?" Leonardo asked, surprised, and to Ezio's shock, Leonardo grabbed him out of the air and hugged him quickly. Ezio squawked in pain, and Leonardo hastily moved up his sleeve, allowing him to perch on his still-bandaged arm. "You're safe! And back!" 

"Go help your mother," Malik jerked his thumb further down the battlements. "She's crazy with grief and Cesare's getting the better of her."

 _Grief_? Ezio froze, and Leonardo frowned at Malik. "Now's... now's not the time, Ezio. Please. Go. Help your mother. Malik and I will get this cannon turned around and that should be good against the monster in the courtyard."

Ezio nodded, his heart clenching tight. Grief. His siblings. His mother. 

His uncle was nowhere to be seen.

Nothing short of death would have prevented Mario from helping to defend Monteriggioni, however injured he might have been.

Nothing short of _death_.

II.

High above, the falcon that was Ezio let out a despairing cry, and Leonardo flinched. So Ezio had noticed after all.

Mario had been the first to fall to Cesare - the truebloods had been engaged in a vicious battle on the ramparts that had ended in Mario's death, torn apart in front of his family as Cesare's will finally triumphed. 

Trueblood battles, Leonardo had once learned from the Ottoman ambassador's _arkadaş_ , were matters of pure will. The _arkadaş_ had not the words to explain, not even in Turkish, and Leonardo had wondered idly if the bites the truebloods inflicted on each other as they battled had each been some sort of mental shock, a psychic knife into their opponent until one or both were finally destroyed.

If Mario had not been weakened earlier - well. It was easy to despair over what-ifs. Beside him, Malik snarled out a final string of curses as they finally got the cannon swung around. "Did you have to fasten the swivel to the _rock_?" he snapped, not for the first time.

"I have to admit I did not contemplate having to fire it _into_ the fort," Leonardo replied soothingly, again not for the first time, as he helped to load the cannon. The surviving _condottieri_ on the walls were archers: the lancers were all in the courtyard, either attacking the monster, the Borgia forces who had gotten in through the open gate, or were helping to coordinate water chains over the fires. 

"Finally!" Malik hissed, as Leonardo stepped away. " _Claudia! Petrucchio!_ "

The two whirling falcons shrieked in response, and upped their assault, luring the monster away from where they had kept it dancing and lumbering in the centre of the square towards the closest tower. It roared as it swung, smashing at a spot where Claudia had seemed to linger, and its fist rammed through sturdy rock as though it was made of tissue. Instantly, shadows flicked out from the rock, holding the monster's fist in place - but the shadows snapped away quickly even as Malik fired the cannon. 

The silver concoction in the strange cannonballs struck and smashed explosively on the rock, doing nothing more than inconvenience the already dead bodies of _condottieri_ littering the walls. Claudia screeched in frustration even as she dived away from a slow swipe, dancing up into the wind. 

Then the disc glowed, and the monster abruptly turned, suddenly light on its feet as it seemed to focus on Malik and Leonardo. It groaned as it took two ground-eating steps towards, them, both fists upraised, ignoring the two falcons clawing at its eyes, and then one falcon darted away, shifting as it swooped to shift into shadow. Malik yelped as he and Leonardo were unceremoniously yanked off their feet, dragged sharply to one side and under one of the watchposts even as the huge fists smashed into the cannon and the crates of ammunition, which promptly imploded. 

Leonardo ducked away from the searing blast of heat and flame, hurriedly clapping a hand over Malik's eyes, even as the shadow curled against them seemed to let out an odd squeak of shock, twisting and turning into the chubby, boyish form of Petrucchio Auditore. Bawling, the monster was staggering as what looked like silver fire swarmed up its huge fingers and over the backs of its palms, eating up flesh and bone voraciously until it got to the disc, which flashed once before melting. 

As the monster collapsed into its parts, a falcon darted into their makeshift refuge, shifting into Claudia, who hugged her brother tightly, breathing hard. 

"Now the army outside," she said breathlessly.

"You were not to leave the fort," Leonardo objected. "The army outside, they have arrows, and-"

"And?" Claudia flared, narrowing her eyes. "And our bondsmen are dying!"

Malik caught Leonardo's wrist even as Claudia stepped back outside, shifting into a falcon with a defiant cry. Petrucchio started to follow her, and hesitated when Leonardo quickly put a hand on his shoulder. "Petrucchio, _per favore_ , no."

"I must take care of my sister," Petrucchio smiled nervously. "That is what my mother has asked of me this day. Good luck, _signore_ Leonardo. Please stay safe."

And then he too, was gone. Leonardo sagged in Malik's grip, rubbing at his eyes, resisting when Malik tugged at him. "Let's get you somewhere safer," Malik said gruffly. 

"But Petrucchio-"

"That 'boy' is older than the both of us combined, Leonardo. He can make his own decisions." Malik said flatly, clearly disinterested. "Come."

III.

He had managed to get one gash in with the silver blades before Cesare's shadows had managed to slice the leather off his talons - then they were fighting in earnest, mauling each other as they sought again and again to shift forms. Ezio felt slow: whatever magic had slammed into him when he had broken that disc made him sluggish, and a fight that he could have won easily only a day ago now made him struggle.

Still, rage was lending him strength where exhaustion threatened: his mother's kestrel form lay on its back, open-winged and still, on the stone stairway below, surrounded by a protective cordon of _condottieri_ which were carefully trying to move her onto a linen stretcher. Fury had consumed Ezio: he wanted to _kill_ Cesare slowly, destroy him, tear out his heart-

But instead of losing himself to it, Ezio found his anger buffeted against a core of iron calm that did not seem entirely his. It soothed him, made him canny rather than careless, and as he struck again and again, avoiding feints and creating his own openings in Cesare's defence, he grew confident. He could win this.

He was a wolf again, darting away from the swiping claws of Cesare's tiger, then a viper that struck and sank its fangs high against the tiger's flanks. The tiger _shrilled_ and was shadow, then all teeth as a heavily armoured crocodile, which snapped and twisted as the viper became a python that curled itself crushingly tight over the crocodile's body. They pushed form after form until Ezio was slowing further, exhausted, but his opponent was slowing too, until all at once Cesare was a huge spider, leaping at the back of Ezio's panther, and Ezio grit his teeth, slipped into his human-like form, rolling and grabbing the silver blade as he went. 

He came up onto his feet, scrambled away from a lunge, and leaped, jumping onto the spider's back. Cesare shrieked, staggering back in surprise, and his momentary shock was all Ezio needed - plunging the silver right into the back of the spider's skull. 

Gasping, shivering, Ezio collapsed onto the stone as Cesare turned to dust around him. He coughed, and it took several attempts before his body obeyed him enough for him to stagger to his feet. Cesare had gotten in several good strikes, and it was all Ezio could do to force himself to the battlements, to check on the battle below. 

Michelotto was in full retreat, harried by the combined Monteriggioni-Firenze cavalry. La Volpe had reined up near the gates to watch, and as Ezio looked around wildly, he relaxed as he saw Claudia's falcon bank out of a swoop, turning back towards Monteriggioni, as did Petrucchio-

-and then Petrucchio was falling out of the air, twisting, wings heaving awkwardly and helplessly, the silver-shafted arrow in his chest, and even as a cry of anguish tore itself from Ezio's throat his little brother was dust, scattering onto the blood-soaked grass of the battlefield, and his sister was circling high, screaming, screaming. 

Michelotto. It was Michelotto in the distance, lowering a bow, and Ezio forced himself into his falcon form, shaky as he prepared to leap from the battlements, only to be grabbed tight and held still. He twisted, clawing at his tormentor, freezing only when he saw the pain on Leonardo's drawn face. "Oh Ezio - _mi dispiace_ , oh Gods - I told Petrucchio not to go, Gods, I am so sorry-" 

"If you go," Malik said quietly, at Leonardo's elbow, "You will die. You clearly have not the strength for much more in you." As Ezio renewed his struggles, albeit careful of his talons, Malik snorted and threw up his hand. "Fine! Let him go, Leonardo. He wants to die, let him die."

"I will _not_ ," Leonardo said evenly, and this here, Ezio realized in sudden surprise, was the core of iron calm that he had felt, that had helped him through his fight. It had been _Leonardo_.

He pushed himself into shadow, then to his human-shaped form, and caught Leonardo's mauled hands apologetically. "Your poor hands," he murmured. Now that the adrenaline of the fight was almost out of him, he felt only numbness. His grief was too much for him to even begin to understand what he had lost: each time he tried to even think of it, his mind seemed to skitter away, frightened. It seemed like it was all he could do to breathe, to stay upright, to _speak_.

"Ah, I was expecting it." Leonardo pulled his hands away, ignoring the cuts. "They will mend. Ezio, I am so sorry."

"Your uncle is dead and your mother is unconscious," Malik's tone was flat. "You are in command of Monteriggioni now, Ezio Auditore. Go and give orders. You have injured, you need to bury your dead, parts of your fort are still on fire, your refugees-"

" _Peace_ , Malik," Leonardo cut in. "He has just lost his brother _and_ his uncle and-"

"No. Malik Al-Sayf is right." Ezio took in a slow breath, feeling tentatively for Leonardo's calm, relaxing further as it seemed to... wrap about him, within his mind, like a buffer: not that Leonardo's expression changed at all. Curious. Something unconscious, then. A link.

It frightened him a little, but he needed it - for now. "I will take command."


	21. Chapter 21

I.

Malik returned dangerously late in the evening, just into first dark, all but swaying on his feet as he reined up in the courtyard. None of the other guardsmen were with him, only La Volpe, and he had to be helped down off his horse by Hastings. Altaïr had edged closer from where he was perched on the roof instinctively, but stepped back again when he saw how heavily Malik leaned on Hastings.

Exhausted. Injured. Altaïr clenched his hands tightly, a lick of ugly anger curling briefly through him. That Malik would give so much of himself to his new master-

As though he had heard Altaïr's thoughts, Malik glanced up sharply, meeting his eyes - then to Altaïr's irritation and surprised, continued turning his head, until he located Federico sitting not far away, beside Kadar, high up on the ledge of the watchtower. He beckoned, and Kadar started to rise, then sat down again with surprise when Malik shook his head and pointed at Federico. 

Federico leaped into a hawk, then was blurring into his human-like form again, within a respectful distance away from Malik. "My friend," he said, his voice carrying in the courtyard, even over the whispers of the watching hunters. "You are unwell."

"I'll keep," Malik said gruffly. "I've got news for you. Let's get somewhere quiet." 

Federico nodded questioningly, and Hastings helped Malik into the building, trailing the trueblood behind them. Altaïr frowned, wondering whether or not to follow and listen in, then he nearly fell off his perch at the sound of a scraping foot beside him. La Volpe smirked, clearly pleased at his shock: Altaïr had possessed keen ears when he had still been alive, keener yet now that he was turned, and he had not sensed the Immortal at all.

"Magus," Altaïr said finally, with grudging respect. The Magus were feared and respected in Syria, and had always been nominally welcome at Masyaf: after all, Al Mualim himself was a Magus. 

"I hear you killed Robert de Sable. Good."

Altaïr nodded warily. Perhaps reports of his deed had been flown by messenger bird to Monteriggioni. Perhaps the Magus had other means of knowing. It mattered little. Altaïr had not been fond of dealings with non-Masyaf magi even when he had been alive: often, they had their own, inscrutable agendas. 

"You and the remaining made vampires will be all that will be guarding Firenze until the Duce's return," La Volpe continued, when Altaïr said nothing. 

"Federico is leaving?"

"His uncle and youngest brother are dead, his mother gravely injured. He will return." 

Altaïr blinked, turning to look at La Volpe, openly startled. " _Two_ truebloods and a third injured? What did you face?"

The Magus seemed haggard, his eyes distant and haunted. "Something I had hoped never to face again."

"Is... it dead? Destroyed?" 

"Hopefully all of them. But I think not." La Volpe peered forward as Federico stumbled out of the hunter headquarters, looking wide-eyed and stunned. 

Kadar had dropped from the roof to land beside him, reaching out, and Federico held up a hand sharply, stilling him, then seemed to try to smile: a ghastly, fake rictus. They exchanged soft words, then Kadar tentatively reached over to clasp Federico's wrist. The trueblood lowered his head briefly, as though scenting Kadar's neck, then he stepped away and shifted as he leaped, turning into a large eagle that dove up into the air, winging away towards distant Monteriggioni.

"That's interesting," La Volpe noted, as Kadar looked around awkwardly then scurried to a side when the other made vampire, Desmond, hailed him from a corner of the courtyard. "A trueblood and a non-sired made."

"Oh?" Altaïr inquired, narrowing his eyes, but La Volpe merely smiled irritatingly at him and sat back on the roof, pointedly looking up at the stars. 

Scowling, Altaïr waited. If it was a patience game La Volpe was playing, then he would lose. Altaïr was dead already after all. He could wait all night for a response if he wanted to. 

His determination was swayed only when Malik said quietly, from the courtyard, "Altaïr?"

Cautiously, Altaïr looked over the edge of the roof. Malik was standing beside Kadar, his lips thinned, looking up towards Altaïr. Internalising a sigh, hardening his resolve, Altaïr stepped off the roof, landing lightly on the ground and striding towards them. 

"You freed Kadar," Malik said in Arabic, once he was within reach. Altaïr nodded, and Malik's expression twisted for a moment before it smoothed. "Did Robert suffer?"

"Not as much as I would have liked." 

"Malik-" Kadar began, but Malik gave him a half-shake of his head, and he fell silent.

"Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad," Malik said slowly, his tone formal, "I absolve you and forgive you. Your wrongs against me and my brother are now forgotten. And may God have mercy on your soul."

"I thank you for your words," Altaïr replied, just as formally. "And, hunter, I ask from you the last gift of peace." 

" _Altaïr_ ," Kadar burst out, shocked, even as Malik narrowed his eyes, his single hand clenched.

"You want to die?" Malik asked bluntly, breaking ritual.

"I am already dead, Malik." 

"I-" Malik sucked in a short, harsh breath. "I cannot. I could not kill Kadar. I cannot kill you. Do not ask me again." 

"Then," Altaïr said bleakly, "You would prefer that I seek dishonour in the use of my own blade-"

"Ask another." Malik cut in, growing pale.

"None save one of my Brothers can show me the way, and Masyaf is far from here," Altaïr slipped back into ritual, though his eyes were narrowed. Those who wore Masyaf whites and were turned - by accident or by force - often returned to seek their deaths by their Brothers in life whenever they could get free of their sires.

"I... I cannot. Altaïr, I cannot, I cannot," Malik whispered, and he was shaking, Altaïr saw, blinking: the hunter stumbled, and Kadar caught him with a low cry of concern. 

Hastings glared at him as he helped to hustle Malik away back into headquarters, and Altaïr found himself standing helplessly under the roof, alone and lost for the first time in his life. He stood quietly until Kadar emerged from headquarters, gritting his teeth and striding over to Altaïr. 

"He was on his last legs," Kadar said flatly, his eyes hard - a startling look for the usually diffident boy. "And you spring that on him. That!"

"I did not think he would-"

"You did not think!"

"-have a problem going through with the rest of it," Altaïr continued, through gritted teeth. "It was not as though I was going to fight back."

"You," Kadar said bitterly, "Know _nothing_ ," and before Altaïr could retort, the boy was a small, swift bird that shot up into the night, almost faster than his eye could follow.

II.

Even Suleiman looked surprised when Giovanni and Yusuf emerged at nightfall from the cellars chatting amiably as though they had been friends for years. The Prince recovered quickly though, as they settled down for dinner in the dining hall. It was less crowded than it was in the morning, and the few who remained ate purposefully before walking away briskly. The reconstruction efforts had begun.

"We can get you to Venezia with our ship," Yusuf agreed. "Easy. Now?"

"Soon," Lorenzo smiled a little despite himself. When relaxed and comfortable, Yusuf was every inch as boyish as Suleiman clearly strove to be mature. It was easy to forget _what_ Yusuf was: a creature that had taught Lorenzo's species to fear the dark. "Did you pass Venezia on the way here?"

"We avoided. There was," Yusuf began, then frowned, and looked to Suleiman to explain.

"Yusuf had a bad instinct about Venezia," Suleiman explained. "No, not the right word. Bad sense?"

"What sort of bad feeling?"

"Something waiting. Like great beast. Not _ubır_ and not _meçkey_. Like _hortlak_ , yet not. _Örek_ and _hortlak_ both." Yusuf looked frustrated again. "No words."

"In the Empire," Suleiman added hastily, "There are more... definitions of what you know as 'vampire' than here. Here you have three, no? The, ah, your unbound 'truebloods', our _meçkey_ \- born and birthed, with a true-form of a man, two-souled beings with one soul, gifted with shadow."

"Then there are the _hortlak_ , the... 'created' vampires, turned by _meçkey_ , controlled by them. They are non-alive: the souls in them given in the moment of death to Karash Han. They are strong, but nowhere as strong as the _meçkey_." 

To Lorenzo's mild surprise, Giovanni added, "And then the _ubır_ , the husks. Drained but not turned. Ghouls."

"Yes, yes," Suleiman smiled encouragingly. "And one more sort. The _örek_. Vampires that are built, not turned or drained. Through magic. Witchcraft."

"I have heard of such," Giovanni said flatly. "Rogue magic... necromancy. These constructs - your _örek_ \- they are at best only a little stronger than the made vampires."

"Usually, yes. But there was something." Yusuf looked uncomfortable. "Did not want risk. We take you close to Venezia. You can see. Maybe it is gone." 

He did not sound too hopeful, and Lorenzo stared hard at Venezia when they finished preparations and boarded Suleiman's ship. It was a small, swift little gunboat, easily crewed by even a 'weak' trueblood or a small complement of sailors, and had been cunningly hidden away from the main array of larger ships by tarpaulins and a row of crates. 

Yusuf was off doing a last scouting circuit of Mestre, and Lorenzo leaned his elbows on the rail, watching the distant lights. Eventually, Giovanni stepped to his side, glancing briefly at the dock, where Suleiman was counting a few crates of fresh supplies passed to them from the Mestre survivors, 'just in case'. 

Most were medical supplies and basic foodstuffs, and Lorenzo had the impression that the crates were very likely more for any citizens of Venezia in need than for themselves. They also carried a small bag of hastily written letters, though Lorenzo wasn't hopeful about getting those delivered with any urgency. 

"Is the water affecting you at all?" he asked his companion.

"No. It is a strange feeling," Giovanni admitted. "I think that I should feel pain, but I do not, but in thinking that I should..." he trailed off, and lifted a shoulder. "I am ignoring it. But it is unsettling yet."

"I hope you will have overcome it by the time we reach Venezia," Lorenzo said doubtfully. "Particularly if there is still a threat within it."

"If there is any hint of danger," Giovanni murmured, "I will head in to Venezia alone, and you should return to Mestre with Suleiman and Yusuf."

"You've become fast friends with Yusuf rather quickly."

Giovanni snorted. "He has no malice in him. Nor does that Prince. Of course, if you do not trust them-"

"I agree with your judgment," Lorenzo cut in quickly. "Be careful. Whatever might be in Venezia..."

"Might be more dangerous than I am?" Giovanni drawled, but Lorenzo narrowed his eyes, refusing to concede the point.

"You haven't fed since we left Firenze, and I think you may have over-extended yourself since."

Giovanni averted his eyes, ostensibly to look back over at Venezia. "Does it matter? Your goal sits before you, Duce."

"I have no intention of dying before I can enjoy it," Lorenzo pointed out dryly. "Your well-being affects mine." 

"No harm will come to you, _Altezza_ ," Giovanni didn't look back at him, but his tone was low and even. "Especially from me."

III.

The outer ring of buildings was dark, but Lorenzo could see lights further within Venezia. He had been to the City of Water but once in his life, and despite the cold weather, he could smell the faint whiff of refuse from the shallower canals even where he stood on the deck of Suleiman's ship.

"I do not sense anything," Giovanni said, with a glance at Yusuf, after a long moment. 

Yusuf nodded uncertainly. "I think," he began, then frowned, and shot the dark alleys, narrow buildings and bridges over the canal networks a dubious glance. "I am not sure."

"The water seems higher than it was," Suleiman added, with a slight frown. "But we did not pass by so closely."

"Acqua alta," Lorenzo explained absently. "It is unusual, but not supernatural in origin. Floodwaters from the Adriatic."

"Well," Suleiman brightened a little. "If it is not supernatural, then perhaps we should enter Venice through the Grand Canal. It will be deep enough that even if there are husks on the bottom of the Canal, they will not be able to reach us, and we can see how Venezia is faring."

"Your mast will not pass under the Ponte di Rialto," Lorenzo pointed out. "Small as your gunboat is."

"But it will still give us a view of half the city before we may have to disembark, and Yusuf can get this ship turned around more gracefully than a normal ship." 

Lorenzo had to concede that point. Yusuf was standing behind the helm, but he was also sailing the small gunboat by himself - shadows attended to the sails and rigging, to the anchor, and, if they were attacked, Lorenzo felt it was quite possible that Yusuf could also man the swivel guns and the two mounted cannons. 

The ship even seemed to move when Lorenzo felt no wind at all - perhaps some hidden contraption under water. Leonardo would have loved to be here. Lorenzo had no idea how Suleiman had managed during daylight hours - perhaps they had simply followed the shore and had weighed anchor somewhere hidden during the day hours - and resolved to ask later. 

"All right," Lorenzo agreed. "It is a good plan. Giovanni, _per favore_ , if you could keep watch and scout ahead?"

Giovanni nodded, shifting into his eagle form and soaring up into the air, his great wings catching the breeze effortlessly. Behind Lorenzo, Yusuf snorted, and when Lorenzo glanced at the trueblood questioningly, it was Suleiman who smiled. "Much pride," he said, by way of explanation, but when Lorenzo arched an eyebrow, he added, "Eagle form is pride. Owl form has better eyes."

"I thought it didn't matter," Lorenzo said, surprised by Suleiman's words. "The orange eyes-" 

"The form, shapes," Suleiman began, stopped, then smiled again. "Ah, but perhaps we do not know. What we do know of the _meçkey_ is mostly academic." The Prince sighed. "At least, for now."

"For now?"

"This... trouble in the Empire," Suleiman said slowly, with a quick glance at Yusuf, then back at Venezia as they manoeuvred quietly into the mouth of the Grand Canal, sliding between the rows of darkened buildings. "It is from a... philosophical struggle. There has been growing dissatisfaction. Templar _meçkey_ have been influencing some _arkadaş_."

"But I thought that the bond cannot be broken without the death of both." Lorenzo said, surprised.

Suleiman lifted a shoulder into a shrug. "Who is to say? I think they lie, but some people, they want to believe."

"And the _arkadaş_ ' host has... no opinions?"

"Some humans do not like being hosts. The... bond is both ways. The vulnerability. Giving the blood gift also can be tiring when you are older. Dangerous, if you are very much older. The host's life span is also affected. Some saw all this as a matter of concern."

"Like your uncle," Lorenzo guessed, and Suleiman nodded gravely. 

"There were... rumours. Many rumours. I spoke to my uncle. Perhaps too loudly." Suleiman sighed again. "And my father, he too is not so fond of the system. So."

"But the _arkadaş_ system is the reason behind the Ottoman Empire's military successes," Lorenzo continued, still rather bewildered. "The reason for its continued existence over so much of the known world." 

"I would say, those of the _arkadaş_ who wish to be free, there is nothing all wrong in that. No, Yusuf," Suleiman raised his voice slightly when Yusuf started to speak. "Giving the blood gift is a privilege. But it is not right that all of you must die so young. I do not think it is right that you have no choice but to obey me. But to revert to no system at all, that is also not right. It is chaos. Like here." 

"Like here," Lorenzo echoed solemnly. They were nearing the first, lighted buildings, and still he saw no sign of life. No husks either, which was also encouraging - but no people, not even a whisper of life. A few gondolas were moored at the sides, but they did not look as though they had been used in weeks. 

The gunboat rounded the bend, picking up a little speed as the sails caught a brief breeze, passing a row of wooden stilts that jutted out of the water before a three-storied palazzo with dim lanterns hanging on its second floor balcony. As they started to sail by, a slim figure darted up onto the balustrade, and climbed down seemingly impossible handholds with all the agility of a monkey, then hopped over to perch on one of the stilts. 

"Hail the ship," the newcomer called, and Lorenzo blinked. A woman. Swaddled in drab brown robes, but now that they were closer, he could see a full mouth under the lip of her hood. "Who the hell are you guys? A trueblood? On the water? Crewing a ship with two humans?"

"Stop the ship," Lorenzo told Yusuf, who sighed, muttering something under his breath. 

The ship came to a gradual, creaking stop in the canal, even as Suleiman murmured apologetically, "The correct term is 'weigh anchor'."

"I know you," the woman stared at Lorenzo keenly. "Lorenzo de' Medici, yes?" She laughed, amused, not entirely friendly. "Antonio's going to wish that he bothered to come down."

"You are... a survivor?"

"Survivor?" the woman scowled. "We're _resistance_. Hunters, too. I'm Rosa. Our little family in Venezia is headed by Antonio. What are you doing here, Duce?"

"After my agents removed Emilio Barbarigo and Robert de Sable, I thought perhaps to see to it that Venezia returned to being a freehold." Lorenzo chose his words and tone carefully.

"That was you?" Rosa smirked. "You and your new vampire masters? We've heard, Duce. And we can't say that we like the change."

"Change is necessary when the Borgia and their allies seem intent on swallowing Italia, and the Auditore are no master of me and mine," Lorenzo retorted evenly. "So I take it that the situation in Venezia is stable? I have not seen any husks."

"Stable? Hah! It's a fucking disaster," Rosa spat into the water, ignoring how Suleiman flinched, startled by her rough tone. "There's something fucked up in Venezia. Don't know if it was because you got rid of Emilio and Robert, don't fucking care. Two less truebloods is good by my books, however you got there, and I doubt you had anything to do with what was next." 

"Next? What is next?" 

"It's been sleeping the last two days. But it's in the Doge's palazzo." Rosa jerked her thumb sharply into the thick maze of canals beside her. "It's in the _entire_ courtyard." 

"There, I said-" Yusuf began excitedly, but Lorenzo held up a hand, then reached under his collar to touch the scar at his neck. As he hoped, this called Giovanni - only moments passed before the great eagle dropped out of the sky, landing on Lorenzo's arm when Lorenzo held it out. Giovanni glanced briefly and suspiciously at Rosa, then seemed to dismiss her as a threat, cocking his head questioningly at Lorenzo. 

"Giovanni, there is something in the Doge's palazzo. Go and investigate it, tell me what you find." Lorenzo said quietly. "Rosa, could you describe it?"

Rosa had been staring wide-eyed at Lorenzo the moment Giovanni had arrived, and she shook her head slowly. "So it is true. You now command the Auditore. We thought it was the other way round, but I should have guessed that it wouldn't have been. How the fuck did you manage that, Duce?"

"Luck and circumstance." Lorenzo shot Giovanni a quick look, hoping that the trueblood would play along with the charade for a while despite his pride, but Giovanni merely resettled his wings, clacking his beak. 

"I think," Rosa said, even more slowly, as though considering her words, "That maybe you should meet Antonio after all. Come with me."


	22. Chapter 22

I.

Leonardo allowed himself to be bullied into a shaded corner of the villa courtyard for lunch only reluctantly. "Once I stop," he told Lucy again in protest, "Then I will need sleep."

"You have done more than you should," Lucy retorted, in crutches and pale with pain but clearly disinclined to ignore any doctor's orders to stay in bed. Lucy had been in one of the first waves of _condottieri_ attacking the abomination in the courtyard, and had been partly trampled - she was lucky that she had gotten away lightly, all things considered: with a broken leg, ribs and fingers along with heavy bruising along her left flank and arm. 

"There are still more patients-"

"All the critical ones are stable," Lucy cut in, gesturing, and one of the volunteers at the makeshift outdoor larder scurried over with a bowl of thick vegetable soup and bread. "If you collapse from exhaustion you may do more harm than good to your patients. What if you accidentally stab someone instead of stitching him?"

"All right," Leonardo said wryly, "I concede." He wasn't hungry - he had tried to set too many shattered bones, done too many amputations and field operations today for food, but he forced himself to swallow some of it and nibble the bread under Lucy's stern gaze.

She looked away at the sound of an exuberant whoop of greeting from the entrance to the inner courtyard - Rebecca swooped by the open larder to pick up a bowl of soup, grinning as she plopped down on the grass before them to eat. "You should be resting," Lucy told her sharply. 

"Look who's talking," Rebecca retorted, and briefly stuck out her tongue. The only hint of the pain Rebecca had to be feeling even through the poultice was a tightening about the eyes - she was stiff as she ate, but that was all. 

"How go the repairs?" Leonardo asked, before they squabbled.

"Half the town's in cinders," Rebecca spoke through her mouthful of soup and bread. "They've got tents up on every available space and they're clearing the rubble. The dead's being buried outside. It's all scarily orderly."

"Scarily?" Lucy repeated, blinking.

"They've got to have lost, what, at least a quarter of everyone who used to live here? Maybe more? Lots of injured? And d'you hear any wailing going on?" Rebecca gestured at the neat lines of cots before them in the inner courtyard, which had been turned into a temporary triage space. "Look at that. It's so... _military_."

"They mourn," Leonardo murmured, pitching his voice low. "But not for their lives. They mourn for the two truebloods that were killed, for the one gravely injured."

"Seriously?" Rebecca objected. "They did as fucking _much_ as any-"

"Quiet _down_ ," Lucy hissed, and Rebecca subsided reluctantly. "We're still here by their good graces."

"Malik should've brought all the Duce's men home," Rebecca glanced back over the triage lines. "Those who could ride, that is. Firenze's a sitting duck right now."

"There are still guardsmen in Firenze," Leonardo pointed out, calculating probabilities absently in his exhausted mind. "But yes, it is not good that Federico is here. Not that anyone could have kept him away."

"Malik didn't have to ride himself to death getting back to tell him the news," Lucy muttered.

"Malik just wished to get himself and La Volpe back to Firenze. It was a strategic decision that I approved. It would have been cruel not to tell Federico, and dangerous for the alliance." Leonardo said firmly. "We also cannot be sure as yet whether Michelotto's army may return. Our scouts have not yet found them, and Federico will have to wait for nightfall to do any scouting."

"And if they strike against Firenze?"

"It will take days for an army so large to regroup, re-evaluate and then march such a distance. And Firenze has withstood sieges before. We do not need the truebloods for _that_ ," Leonardo pointed out. "They can operate surgical strikes within Firenze, but to take and hold the city they need human armies, since they need invitations to enter freehold buildings. Remember, the Duce only reached out to the Auditore when he decided that he needed Venezia." 

"Funny how that turned out."

"Ah, well," Leonardo sighed, "The original plan was to have an Auditore escort through the neutral and hostile lands, and for the guardsmen to take the city-" 

"I meant," Lucy interrupted in a low voice, "Giovanni may not be as enthusiastic an ally now that he has lost his brother, his son, and possibly his mate."

"War was coming to the Auditore regardless of whether they stayed neutral," Leonardo noted quietly. 

"Let's hope that they believe that," Lucy decided, and they sat companionably in the warm sun, watching over the groaning, gasping lines of the wounded. Death sat in a gray pallor over the fort, and Leonardo's mood grew darker as he sat back in the bench, setting the bowl and plate beside him. 

He didn't remember nodding off, but he woke with a dull start in a bed, large and canopied, in a luxurious room that he did not recognise. As he struggled to sit up, a hand pressed over his shoulder. "Peace," Ezio said, straightening and yawning from a chair beside him. "It is not yet dark."

"This is..." Ezio's room, then, judging from the ornamental weapons adorning the walls, the occasional framed paintings of mythological, militaristic scenes, a case of books, clearly ignored for years, more cases of weapons and racks of armour. "My companions?"

"Resting. If you mean, did they object to you being moved, yes, but your personal workshop had been trampled, and lodgings are in short supply at present." Ezio rubbed a palm over his eyes with a yawn. "These monsters seem to like destroying your things."

"So I have noticed," Leonardo noted dryly, before looking Ezio more closely over in concern. "Were you injured?"

"I will heal." 

"You have been sitting there all this while?"

"Well," Ezio somehow managed a playful grin despite the exhaustion in every line of his handsome face, "You needed the bed more, _leone_."

"Don't call me that." Leonardo hesitated, then shifted to a side and patted the space he had vacated. "There's no sense in wasting the space."

Instead of immediately taking him up on the rather awkward offer, Ezio merely cocked his head. "I thought that you did not want any... intimacy between us."

"Offering you the use of your own bed does not constitute intimacy." Leonardo had already settled onto his flank, "And besides, I am far too tired to engage in anything prurient. As, I suspect, are you."

Ezio grinned then, the unselfconscious, oh-so-dangerous grin of the maddeningly handsome, and pulled off his boots and vest, settling into the bed in his shirt and breeches: within reach, but not pressing close. Gods, he was _handsome_. Leonardo suspected wryly that but for his personal exhaustion, his self-control would have been tested to the brink, just being so close, curled up in Ezio's masculine, spicy musk, in _bed_. 

Thankfully, Ezio didn't seem to notice Leonardo's distraction, instead complaining, "This is the first time I have gone to bed with a human without 'engaging in anything prurient'. You are a bad influence."

"Or a good one."

Abruptly, the playfulness in Ezio's tone faded. "Or a good one," he agreed carefully. "Leonardo, we are not bonded, are we?"

"Well-"

"Setting aside your dubious charades for my sake. We are not bonded, yes?"

"Not in any sense that I understand it, no."

"Then?"

Leonardo hesitated, a long moment, then he decided he was too tired to prevaricate. "Ezio, when you flew up the battlements - somehow, I _knew_ it was you. The moment you arrived within sight of Monteriggioni, I knew you were there. I was surprised only because the logical part of me had been busy telling myself that I was mistaken, and for my... newfound intuition to be validated all at once, it was a shock."

"You knew... how?"

"The same way I know that you were in the hallway of your villa for most of the morning, that you were in your uncle's study for an hour or so in the afternoon. I just know." Leonardo hesitated for a moment more, then he murmured, "Your pain and grief-"

"You can feel that too?"

"Not at first... I think I was too busy trying to get my - ultimately useless - cannon turned about. But now, yes." Leonardo dared to reach out, to press his palm lightly over Ezio's fingers. "This too will pass." 

Ezio's expression twisted briefly, and he looked away, pulling his hand out of Leonardo's touch and rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "Mother will not wake up. She feeds, her eyes are open, but she does nothing. She is like a doll. Claudia is distraught, Federico little better."

"I have no knowledge of trueblood physiology save what I have read - and discussed with my Ottoman friends. But I think she will recover. Just as you will all recover."

"And my uncle..." Ezio sucked in a harsh, tight sound of pain. "My _brother_."

"Peace," Leonardo whispered, for he had no other words for comfort that would not seem shallow. "Peace, Ezio."

"Not until Michelotto is dead, and the Borgia and their allies are torn from this earth." When Leonardo merely sighed softly, Ezio turned his head, his orange eyes narrowed and hard. "Is this not what your master wanted? This war that was brought upon us?"

"You of the Auditore have battled the Templar for a long time, perhaps longer than Lorenzo has been alive," Leonardo said evenly. "Am I not right?"

"They have never dared attack us like this before."

"They wiped out allies of yours. They destroyed the Scaligeri."

"True," Ezio allowed, and he sighed, rubbing at his face with both hands. "And they would have killed us then, I think, if we had not joined forces with a few of the other _famigli_."

"Rather," Leonardo added quietly, carefully, "You should not have assumed that they had given up on the rest of you and your kind."

"I know! I know." Ezio's voice was low and harsh. "We were blind."

Again Leonardo dared to reach out to press his warm, forge-roughened palm over Ezio's knuckles, and this time, Ezio turned his hand around to press their fingers together.

II.

Federico swept down to land in the inner courtyard, careful of the triage stations, and Leonardo glanced up at him from where he was kneeling by the cot of a wounded _condottieri_ , having been in the midst of changing bandages, nodding a greeting before turning back to his patient. Beside Leonardo, Claudia was carrying a basket of bandages, with a basin of water and cloth by her side, looking fidgety: she rose up at Federico's approach, her expression grim.

"Did you find them?" Claudia demanded, if in a low tone. 

"Yes and no."

"I want-"

"You are needed here in the fort," Federico cut in firmly. "Either you help Leonardo here, or with the rebuilding efforts outside the villa."

His sister's temper flared visibly - her eyes growing hot and furious for a moment as her lips set thin, but instead of lashing out, she merely exhaled irritably and sank back down to her knees beside Leonardo. Leonardo, to his credit, seemed to be pretending that he was oblivious to the minor confrontation, though he nodded again with a brief, distracted smile when Federico clapped him briefly on the shoulder before striding out of the villa courtyard. 

Ezio was watching the salvage efforts from his perch on a workbench once belonging to Leonardo's workshop, despite still recovering from his wounds, ready on hand to shift shadow to bolster crumbling timbers or prevent accidents off hastily constructed scaffolding. He waved when Federico approached. "Ho, brother."

"The trail stopped abruptly a few miles out of Conti." Federico said quietly. 

"That is impossible," Ezio objected. "Even if one of the monsters was hiding them in shadow, an army leaves prints-"

"I am telling you," Federico muttered, "It looks as though they simply disappeared."

Ezio frowned, leaning back against the wall. "The way La Volpe can make things jump across distance?"

"If they could do that, why not 'jump' into our territories, rather than fight through the N'drangheta? They did not go easily. I saw the wreckage."

"Because..." Ezio hesitated. "Federico, I did not tell you this because Claudia was there. And she was not watching when the... remains were hauled outside to be burned. Those monsters, they are powered by magic, but also - somehow - by the deaths of a trueblood. Each one of those discs was set into a body that used to be one of the N'drangheta, and then combined with the bodies of bondsmen. The one that was in the courtyard, it was once Valente. The enemy, they want trueblood corpses."

Federico sucked in a slow breath. Valente had been the patriarch of the N'drangheta family: a trueblood who had been almost as old as their father. 

"But then nowhere is safe. Assuming that the enemy can also move like La Volpe can."

"It is a big assumption." Ezio seemed to consider this for a moment. "We are not friendly with La Volpe, but perhaps Leonardo can ask him for an opinion."

Despite their circumstances, Federico smiled faintly. "Your Leonardo," he teased, "It took you long enough to bed him."

To Federico's amusement, Ezio actually flushed. "I did not bed him - well - not exactly-"

"Your scent was on him."

"He was tired and we put him to bed in my chambers. Remember?" Ezio's tone was defensive. 

"And?"

"And nothing!" 

"All right, brother," Federico laughingly raised his hands in mock surrender. "And, nothing."

"He is not interested," Ezio scowled, kicking his feet into the air, then wincing. Physical injuries healed quickly on truebloods, but the psychic scarring he had taken, first from the monster he had faced in Abbadia San Salvatore, then from Cesare, were still hurting Ezio. 

"Of course he is interested."

"It is a human thing," Ezio's scowl deepened, "To be interested and not interested all at once." 

"Ah," Federico teased, "And so you give up? Just like that?"

"Well, _no_ ," Ezio pitched his voice low, looking around quickly to see if Leonardo was watching. "But now is not the time. Our father is away on business of war, and we must attend to Monteriggioni in his stead. _You_ were towing about a made vampire the last I saw," his brother was quick to counter. "A cute one. Looked like Malik Al-Sayf."

"I'm surprised that you were in a state to remember anything that night," Federico said dryly, "Being in the middle of a tantrum."

Ezio rolled his eyes, but didn't take the bait. "You can't mate with a made vampire."

Federico bared his teeth instinctively, then remembered himself when Ezio arched his eyebrows. Forcing a laugh, Federico looked away, up to the scaffolding, where _condottieri_ were labouring to strip away charred wood and tinder. "What I do with Kadar is my business."

"I am just concerned," Ezio said quietly. "You know that I will not survive Leonardo's death. That is our law. Should Claudia take a mate, she will join that mate's _famiglia_. That is also law. So, there is only you."

"We live our lives in terms of centuries, Ezio. There is still time to-"

"For you, yes. And Claudia. But for Father, for me, no time left at all." 

"Surely-" Federico began, then he clenched his hands tightly, and sighed. "You are not truly bonded to Leonardo. So..." he trailed off when Ezio shook his head wryly.

"I think La Volpe knows something that we do not," he said finally, when Federico's lapsed silence grew long. "But, my brother, I do not regret meeting Leonardo. There is no one on earth like him. He saved the lives of many of our bondsmen who would otherwise have died from the battle or from burns, did you know? And he is wise, and eloquent and graceful and-"

"Enough, enough," Federico was laughing again, even surrounded by ash as they were. "I have never seen you infatuated with anything. It is a most curious thing."

Ezio scowled angrily. "I was speaking the truth." He glared at his feet. "I _won't_ speak of Leonardo with you again, if all you are going to do is laugh."

" _Mi dispiace_ ," Federico grinned, but Ezio would not be soothed, ignoring Federico pointedly. There was a shout of surprise from the scaffolding, and without looking up, Ezio's shadow caught the case of tools before it spilled out over the side of the ravaged shophouse. 

"I have this under control," Ezio said pointedly, when Federico didn't leave, and Federico raised his hands again, palms up. 

"All right, brother, all right." Federico sobered up, and settled down next to Ezio on the workbench. "I should have been here," he said finally, at last. "Not playing house in Firenze with the humans."

" _Defending_ our allies in Firenze," Ezio corrected, and when Federico did not respond, he reached over to grasp Federico's hand. "Federico... we did not know this would happen. _I_ would not have gone to Abbadia San Salvatore if-"

"And if you had not gone, then our bondsmen there - and allies - would have been slaughtered."

"And if I had not gone, perhaps Mother and Uncle... and Petrucchio..." Ezio shook his head. "Thinking of what could have been is poisonous, Federico. I regret going, but I know that I was right to go. Just as you were right to go to Firenze. How were we to know?" 

Ezio's voice was harsh with pain, and he did not sound as though he fully believed what he was saying. Federico, however, nodded as though convinced. "Even when we first engaged the Templar in conflict," Federico murmured, "I did not think that this would happen." 

"But we could not have stood aside," Ezio surprised him by saying. "Not when they murdered the other _famigli_."

"We could not," Federico agreed. "For in the end, we are part of this world: and if we had stood aside, we would simply have been among the last to fall." 

Ezio nodded slowly, and glanced up at the sky. "Father will be back soon, I think. Within the week."

"But he cannot stay." Federico forced himself to voice the ugly truth. Monteriggioni was no longer Giovanni's home: that much was painfully obvious. "He is bound to a human's soul - and a human's will."

"I know." Ezio said solemnly. "You and Claudia must lead now."

"Ezio-"

"For I think that I too," Ezio added, more softly, "Am now bound to a human's soul, a human's will."


	23. Chapter 23

I.

Unsurprisingly, now that Malik was well-rested, he seemed bent on pretending that the conversation he had last had with Altaïr had never happened: worse, he had been ignoring Altaïr since he had re-emerged from hunter headquarters. Unsettled by Kadar's outburst, Altaïr said nothing, and sat quietly on the roof as Malik spread out a map on a table moved into the courtyard, surrounded by hunters.

He had just finished giving everyone a succinct debrief of all that had happened to date in Monteriggioni, and had continued with a final, "According to the latest message from Leonardo, rebuilding efforts continue, but Michelotto's army is missing. As though it had suddenly disappeared off the earth. La Volpe?"

"It is an easier magic to hide the tracks of a thousand men than it is to move them through space," La Volpe shrugged. "I cannot say whether they have moved or remain. The Auditore pups should continue scouting."

Malik made a note on a small book by the map. "The tracks ended here," Malik pointed at the map. "Our main concern is that the army, routed from Monteriggioni, might decide to make a target of Firenze. That is one possibility that was forwarded by Leonardo."

" _However_ ," he added sharply, when there were mutters, "That is assuming that the army does not know Federico is no longer here-"

"-or does not fucking care," Hastings cut in, glaring down at the map with folded arms. "They attacked a _fort_ with two Elder truebloods. Granted, one had just been fucked up, but there was still one full Elder and three pups, one of whom apparently has a bit of a reputation at duels."

"Regardless," Malik raised his voice sharply over the sudden murmurs, "We are _not_ Monteriggioni. Any trueblood army attacking us is going to face the same problems it has always faced against Firenze. Our homes are secure against vampires, and as to the streets, the Duce has faith in us to continue to keep the peace. If they bring siege machines, our walls have Leonardo's cannon."

"What we need is vigilance," Malik continued, as the hunters subsided. "We're going to step up the watch on our borders. We're a little short on men, but we have La Volpe, and we need only defend for a week - at the worst. Our men from Monteriggioni will return once the situation is clearer, or, the Duce will return from Venezia with Giovanni Auditore." 

"A jump of such magnitude, involving an entire army, I should sense," La Volpe said gruffly. "That should give us time. If it happens. I think it is more likely that they have run back to Roma to lick their wounds."

"A possibility." To Altaïr's surprise, Malik glanced up at him then. "Altaïr. You have been to Roma. You know how to observe and remain undetected?"

"I was detected the last time." 

"But you were not caught." 

"No," Altaïr allowed, warily. "Why?"

"If you want to make yourself useful," an edge crept briefly into Malik's tone, "Then go to Roma. Find out if Michelotto's army has returned."

Altaïr narrowed his eyes. He had no intention of being helpful: in fact, he had _wanted_... "Then a favour you will owe me, Malik."

"We shall see." Malik's expression didn't change, even as above, on the opposite roof, Kadar briefly shot Altaïr a furious glare from where he sat beside Desmond. 

"Very well. Do you want me to fly now?"

"Do you see the night getting any younger?" Malik snapped, then he turned back to the map. "Wait until the end of this briefing. I'll give you further instructions." 

Irritably, Altaïr nodded, and waited impatiently as Malik ran through an extensive, tedious laundry list of rosters, responsibilities, supply requisitions, listened to ideas, complaints and comments, and, finally, dismissed everyone before slumping down into the chair beside the courtyard table, rubbing his hand over his face. La Volpe eyed Altaïr thoughtfully before loping off out of the courtyard, towards Firenze proper, and Altaïr stepped off the roof to land lightly on his feet.

"So," he said quietly, in Arabic. "You'll use one of the Cursed for your legwork?"

Malik's glance was weary before it turned back to the map. "I recognise," he said slowly, "That I have no right to ask you to do any more. You have... absolved yourself, with courage and honour. You have the right to return to Masyaf, to ask one of our Brothers for the final gift. I am no longer one of them." 

Was this the problem? Altaïr tilted his head slightly, curious. "To me, you are more than good enough. You have made a name for yourself here, and protected a great many innocents, and your-"

"Yes, yes," Malik cut in brusquely, his expression tight with some emotion that Altaïr could not identify. "I did not have the courage to give peace to Kadar. I do not have the same where you are concerned. Satisfied? So you can go, if you want to go. But if you want to remain, if you want to feed, then I ask that you work. That you serve the children of God the way you did in life."

"I was not so good at this in life," Altaïr said, with a wry twist to his scarred mouth. "It does not take so much 'courage' where I am concerned, I would have thought. We were not truly friends, even when I was alive."

"Perhaps. But we were Brothers still. I have known you all my life, Altaïr. That means something to me, even if it does not to you," Malik retorted, his eyes narrowing, and this was truth and not truth at the same time, but where Malik was concerned, Altaïr was forever groping blindly in the dark. "When I came here, I thought that I had thrown everything I had ever known away. That I had nothing _left_ to me but my blade - and my hate. Now I have found Kadar again. And you."

"You have found our containers," Altaïr corrected.

"So perhaps I may once have believed." Malik rubbed at his face again, as though trying to wipe an ugly, persistent thought away. "But I have seen little difference in Kadar, and you-" Malik let out a sharp, harsh laugh, "You seem to have become a more honourable man than you were in life. So now I do not know what to believe. And I am too busy to sit somewhere quietly and think about it. But that is irrelevant for now. I ask again. Are you going to help me?"

Altaïr was so surprised that he stared at Malik openly for a long, speechless moment. Malik had just baldly given voice to a heresy that would have, at the least, cut him back down to a novice rank had he still been in Masyaf. At worst, he could have been excommunicated. The Cursed, the Turned, the Drinkers of Life - these were the dead. That had always been part of their faith. 

"I am not the same man," Altaïr said finally. "But not for the better."

"Perhaps." Malik's jaw clenched. "If you will not help me for the sake of these people, then fine, I will owe you a favour." 

"Good." Altaïr decided, although he was uncertain: there was a haunted look to Malik's eyes, if shuttered away quickly when he realized that he had slipped. "I will do your scouting and return, if not tonight, then tomorrow night."

Malik nodded curtly, and gestured for Altaïr to approach. "This is a map of Roma and its outskirts. We will work out the areas you should cover, and do whatever else you see fit when you are there."

II.

Rosa led them into a walled-off courtyard garden near one of the narrower canals, and exchanged a quiet word with someone in the shadows before slouching into a bench. The shrubs were unruly and long un-trimmed, the grass thick and left wild: very little like his palazzo garden, Lorenzo felt absently, then silently berated himself for the unkind thought. The people of Venezia had greater problems than a few unkempt gardens.

"My last reports told me of an army of husks here in Venezia, supporting the Duce," Lorenzo said, when Rosa seemed disinclined to speak. "What happened to them?"

"Gone. At first, we thought they had left." Rosa shrugged. "But then there came worse. Antonio thinks they are related, but I do not know. It does not matter."

"Worse... that thing in the Doge's palazzo?" 

Rosa nodded. "It is a great shadow. Like a trueblood shadow, but greater. It consumes life, leaves people dead, not even drained to husks."

"A living sea of shadow." The newcomer had a mellifluous baritone, and he was a slender, dapper man in a russet vest and breeches. He walked with a thief's silent grace, and was armed with silver throwing daggers strapped to his wrists and a silver blade at his hip. Friendly as his expression was, his eyes were darting and cautious, inquisitive, and there was something quick and sharp about the narrow set of his face that reminded Lorenzo of a ferret. 

"'Antonio', I presume," Lorenzo said mildly. 

"And you are Duce Lorenzo de' Medici." Antonio executed an elaborate, courtly bow, though his smile turned ironic. "And the eagle on your shoulder must be Giovanni Auditore." 

"He is. And these are my friends and allies, Prince Suleiman and his companion Yusuf, late of the Ottoman Empire."

"Hn! Illustrious visitors indeed." Antonio looked over Suleiman and Yusuf with quick, curious eyes. "And a long way from home you are, _principe_."

"Yes." Suleiman agreed, and smiled with such disarming grace that Lorenzo wondered if his statecraft was natural or learned. "Here to learn."

"To learn?" Antonio arched an eyebrow. "By all reports, your Empire is rather more civilised than our broken little handful of warring fiefdoms and human farms. You and your leashed vampires... the _arkadaş_ , yes?"

Lorenzo arched an eyebrow, surprised - with the effective collapse of a cohesive Italian society, information such as this was hard to come by even for Lorenzo, let alone for some isolated group of hunters living in fear of their lives. "You are well-read."

"In a port city, you hear many things." Antonio said expansively. "Or at least, we used to. Few ships leave and return to Venezia at present. The Doge's palace is dark."

So there had possibly been a reprieve on the coastal town attacks, then. Hopefully. "Tell me more about the palace."

"Firstly," Antonio drawled, "I want you to tell me about the nature of your current association with that trueblood on your shoulder, Duce. Fair's fair. Is he leashed, like that trueblood beside the _principe_?"

Yusuf scowled, even as Suleiman protested, before Lorenzo could cut in, "Yusuf is my friend, and has always been my friend. He is not a pet."

"In the Ottoman system, as you may have heard," Lorenzo interrupted smoothly, "The hosts are bonded very young, in a symbiotic system. Their truebloods have a very different view of what it means to be a trueblood." 

"Yes. I have heard." Antonio seemed more amused than sincere, though. "My apologies, _Messer_ Yusuf."

Yusuf grunted, clearly deciding that he didn't like Antonio, and Lorenzo internalised a sigh, even as Rosa let out a sharp laugh. "I brought you these people because they might help us, Antonio. Don't piss them off."

"Merely taking their measure," Antonio said dryly, not in the least repentant. "So, Duce." 

"Giovanni Auditore is an ally," Lorenzo chose his words carefully, "The Borgia incursion threatens us all. The Pazzi have made several attempts on Leonardo da Vinci's life, and-"

"You are changing the subject, _Altezza_."

" _Hear me out_ ," Lorenzo snapped, allowing some of his temper to slip his control. "I need allies to fight the Borgia. I need Venezia to break their stranglehold on the trade routes and to stop their attacks on coastal provinces. And I need Venezia for Leonardo, whose inventions have allowed Firenze to remain the largest and most prosperous freehold in this side of the Continent."

"And so," he added, his tone edged, when Antonio opened his mouth to interrupt, "I do not need your help here. I have Giovanni and he will help me with Venezia regardless of whether you decide to assist me. If you stand in our way, I will not be kind. My plans for Italia require Venezia, and I _will_ have Venezia."

"Your plans for Italia?" Antonio prompted, blinking slowly.

"No more ravaged towns and cities. No more living in fear, locked up squabbling in slowly shrinking freeholds. _No more human farms_." Lorenzo added quietly, "I do not seek empire. But I want the return of trade. Enough prosperity that rationing is a thing of the past."

"And the trueblood Auditores? What will they get from this war?"

"The Templars are killing truebloods as well as humans. First I want to rid Italia of them. Then I propose a continued friendship with the neutral or cooperative _camorra_. They can keep to their territories, we will keep to ours." 

"A return to the old status quo," Antonio summarised dryly.

"A return to a time before all we humans could do was live in fear of another species," Lorenzo countered flatly. 

Antonio was silent for a long while, and uncomfortably, Lorenzo wondered how many more of Antonio's men and women were watching them from the shadows, perhaps ready to strike with crossbow bolts if Antonio gave them the signal. Could Giovanni protect him from such an ambush? The trueblood hadn't made a sound, but Lorenzo wasn't sure whether that was overconfidence. The walled garden would make a good ambush site. 

Abruptly, the hunter clapped his hands together, the sound high and sharp in the garden, and Lorenzo nearly flinched. "Your ambition is famous, Duce, and I see that your reputation for ruthlessness is deserved."

"I seek the means to an end. Nothing else."

"Then I suppose," Antonio's tone was now dry, "That we have no choice but to help you. You _will_ need our help, I think. The thing in the Doge's palazzo is like nothing I have ever seen or heard about. It is like the Ottoman idea of an _örek_ , but not quite, unless it is a very vast magic, one that allows an _örek_ to exceed the powers of one of the _meçkey_."

Both Suleiman and Yusuf looked very surprised. "Ah, you are an educated man," Suleiman said enthusiastically, even as Yusuf muttered, "It is impossible to exceed the _meçkey_."

"And what do you know of what is impossible, _Messer_?" Antonio grinned. "You are so young. Especially for one of your kind."

"I am _arkadaş_ ," Yusuf said reproachfully, his tone stiff and offended, but Suleiman put a hasty hand on his wrist. 

"Of course we have not seen as much of the world as we would have liked. And Yusuf did sense something... wrong, about this _örek_." 

"Can it cross water?" Lorenzo asked, impatient with the mysticism.

"It can." Rosa piped in, her expression grim. "Silver hurts it, but not much." 

"Can it enter buildings uninvited?"

"No. But it can become a colossal, gigantic shape, taller than a palazzo, that can crush a building with great swings of its fists. Giovanni may have seen such ruins, further north in the city." Antonio said, with an inquiring look at Giovanni, who nodded after a moment's thought. 

"When it turned into a giant," Rosa added, "There were two green discs set on the backs of its fists - one per fist. They glowed before it started to attack. I think the discs are controlling it somehow. Maybe the evil magus is communicating with it through the disc." 

Discs. Lorenzo frowned, recalling Malik's report. Before he could say anything, however, Antonio was speaking.

"That's pure conjecture," Antonio hastened to add. "But it's probably the best you have to go on." 

"If its shadow form is so vast," Lorenzo said thoughtfully, "Then it must be lured into this flesh form. Giovanni and perhaps Yusuf can strike at the discs then. I believe that my hunters have encountered such a creature before, and you are correct - the discs are the key weakness." 

Antonio's eyebrows rose, and behind him, his men murmured uneasily amongst themselves. "Encountered it before!" he exclaimed.

"It is a construct by the Templars." Lorenzo tried to inject confidence into his tone. "And it is not invulnerable. I think that Giovanni should be able to handle it, with Yusuf's aid."

Giovanni nodded, and after a moment, Yusuf also nodded reluctantly. "Where does it go during the time of the sun?" Yusuf asked.

"Into the Doge's palace. And the Doge has enough mercenaries to keep us out of there. It's locked tight during the day, and flooded with that monster at night," Rosa said crisply. "We've got a watch posted on the place at all times. God save us, if you have encountered this monster before-" 

"Any ideas about how to draw the monster out? Away from the barracks in the palazzo?" Lorenzo interrupted, trying to recall a map of Venezia into his mind.

"That's simple enough," Antonio said, and his tone was bitter. "we can simply pretend to be trying to retake the docks. Again." 

"You were trying to leave Venezia?" 

"No! No, this is our home." Antonio chewed briefly on his lower lip, then he exhaled sharply. "Earlier you mentioned human farms. Well. That is what the docks is now. All the survivors of the initial husks-driven invasion who did not escape with us are penned there. They work the Doge's ships, and they feed the Doge's pet monster. But mostly, they starve."

"That's-"

"I don't trust your ambition, Duce," Antonio continued bluntly. "And I don't trust a man so bent on power that he will take even one of the damned for an ally. But we need your strength, and if you can help us here, if you can kill the Doge's monster, then you will have our help in the days to come."

"And I should trust a man like you in turn?"

Antonio's smile was thin. "Had you men to spare to retake and hold Venezia, Duce, then I think you would have come here with them, no?" 

Lorenzo had to concede the point. He began to extend his hand, then hesitated when Antonio spat into his first before holding it out. "Honor among thieves," he said, his grin sharp, growing sharper when Lorenzo shrugged and mimicked the gesture. They clasped hands tightly.

"Honor among the free," Lorenzo retorted, and Antonio smirked, squeezing his hand briefly before letting go and turning his head to address a subordinate hidden in the shadows. 

"Ugo, bring me maps. And put a call out for everyone of able body willing to help. We have a city to retake."


	24. Chapter 24

I.

The reprieve didn't last. In the afternoon, Michelotto's army razed Asciano, another bondsmen commune southeast of Monteriggioni, this time with siege weapons: by the time reinforcements rode up, most of the habitable buildings were either rubble or on fire, and Michelotto's army had withdrawn to regroup. By nightfall, they had vanished again, despite Federico's efforts to find them.

"They've realized that they cannot take Monteriggioni," Leonardo said, within the late Mario Auditore's study within the Auditore villa, apparently the traditional war-room of the _famiglia_. A great map of Italia had been painted on the wall behind Leonardo, festooned with pinned notes and sketches, some of the papers so yellowed and old that they probably would have crumbled at a touch.

He had a more recent map of Monteriggioni and its surroundings on Mario's old desk, with little wooden tokens marking the existing boundaries of the Auditore territories and their bondsmen townships. Three of the tokens were painted red. Seven green ones remained, not including Monteriggioni in blue: San Quirico d'Orcia, Siena, Monticiano, Colle di Val d'Elsa, Volterra, Monte San Savino and Pomarance. 

"So they will destroy our territories instead?" Ezio surmised, grim; beside him, Federico paced, his expression equally grave, while Claudia stood white-faced beside Leonardo. "What can we do? We cannot protect our towns in the daytime."

"Michelotto's army must be getting supplied somehow," Leonardo murmured. "I do not think that it is 'jumping' about after all. I spoke to La Volpe via message, and he confirmed that to move such a large army multiple times would take great magic. Enough to burn out its caster."

"Maybe there are multiple casters," Federico countered. 

"La Volpe says that it is doubtful. There are, in his opinion, only a handful of magi who can even conduct such a spell. He thinks likely it is a lesser sort of magi, simply hiding the army's tracks. They are somewhere in your lands." 

"That does not help my peace of mind," Federico muttered, though he stopped pacing. "So they are hiding at night. I still cannot see them, even then."

"La Volpe said there should be signs. Watch where the wind is still. And if you want to break a spell... silver breaks all magic, it seems."

Federico grimaced, as did Claudia, but Ezio nodded slowly. "That makes sense." 

"But La Volpe jumped Malik and his army here," Claudia objected, "And all of them wore silver."

"Not any naked silver," Leonardo said wryly. "Silver weapons tend to tarnish quickly if exposed for too long. So they are kept sheathed until it is necessary for them to be bared. On the positive side," Leonardo added, "None of the survivors reported having seen any carriages. This means that Michelotto's army is really now a human army." 

"Human or not, they can operate siege engines," Federico pointed out flatly. 

"I have a few solutions. Assume that they are bent on razing the remainder of your townships. Judging from the engines that I saw from the walls, they will have a preferred range. You can trap locations that the enemy are likely to bring the engines to, with explosives."

"Secondly," Leonardo added, when Federico began to object, "You can 'salt' some of your lands with silver dust or coins, to disrupt the spell, to cause distortions that you may be able to see in your eagle form at night. I will draw up a list of likely locations where they are hiding at night." 

"Thirdly, you can move your people from your least defensible towns into the most defensible ones and arm those towns with my cannon. If so, I propose here, Siena, Monticiano, and Colle di Van d'Elsa. It will reduce the number of places you have to defend until you find Michelotto's army."

"If you find the army, breaking their siege engines will probably be enough to force a withdrawal. If you can do that while staying out of crossbow range, that would be the simplest and least risky strategy." Leonardo began to mark the map with quick, red crosses. When the truebloods said nothing at all, he looked up with a little frown. "Is there a problem?"

"Well," Federico began, and then he started to laugh. Ezio glowered at him, even as he sidled up to Leonardo and pressed a hand rather possessively against the small of Leonardo's back - Leonardo briefly considered stepping away, but found that he didn't, and-

"My brother was under the misapprehension that you were just a pretty face."

"He is a doctor and an engineer, I did not think 'strategist' was part of this magical package," Federico grinned. Near him, Claudia rolled her eyes. 

"Strategy is an intellectual exercise," Leonardo said, confused. "As is engineering." 

"I think, maybe not the bombs, in case some unsuspecting bondsmen children run over them," Federico said wryly. "But the rest seems sound. Claudia can help with dropping silver pieces from a height, perhaps. If we do not have to touch any of it."

"It would be easy enough to mock up a device that will drop a single coin only if tipped, to be reset when turned back up," Leonardo said thoughtfully. "It may be heavy, though."

"If we split the job between the two of us, perhaps not so heavy. Ezio can remain here to mind the fort." Federico grinned as his sister's face lit up. "But we will be staying out of crossbow range, won't we, sister?"

She nodded quickly. "Of course." 

"Your towns also need a better signalling system. Easy enough to make a firework or two." Leonardo scribbled a few notes in the small book that he always carried. "I do still recommend the evacuation."

"Of course. But if we can find the army, all the better." Federico's tone was light, but his eyes were narrowed. "We could excise the problem at its source."

" _Va bene_ , I will make the device now," Leonardo said, if a touch uncertainly. "But please, be careful."

"Our territories are vast," Ezio said thoughtfully. "Even if you and Claudia spend the rest of the night flying, you may not be able to find them."

"But an evacuation will take time, and will be difficult in the dead of night to manage." Federico frowned at the map. "Still, I see your point, brother. If we cannot find them, then we will evacuate townships first thing in the morning."

II.

Roma certainly had no newly arrived army bustling about the outskirts: the flight here had been a waste of time. Altaïr perched in the form of a small owl in the thick cover of an old olive tree, watching a made vampire walk another, chained one before him. The chained vampire crouched often, his clothes in rags, his skull malformed as though remoulded like wax and elongated, with huge, wide ears and flared nostrils, hairless, pale and hideous. The vampire who held the leash wore armour and white livery of a pattern that Altaïr did not recognise.

He had seen patrols like this the last time he had been by Roma, but this time, he had so far not been spotted. The strange, warm, metallic blue amulet that La Volpe had passed to him before he had set off for Roma seemed to have worked - whatever it was. 

Briefly, Altaïr was tempted to turn straight back to Firenze and tell Malik of what he had found, but reluctantly, he allowed his training and discipline from another life to take over. He leaped into the air, and flew quietly from tree to tree, deciding to chance getting closer to Roma proper. Avoiding the patrols was easy now that they didn't seem to have a preternatural sense for his location, and soon Altaïr was within sight of the Coliseum again, sitting quietly on a perch within a burned out hulk of an old, two-storey building. 

Here, the patrols were thicker. There were groups of human-only patrols, interspersed with the occasional sniffer-vampire patrol, as Altaïr had come to think of them. There were other malformed vampires, leashed with chains here and there to the ground, of which purpose Altaïr had no idea. Failed experiments, staked out for the sun? Some other sort of alarm system? Some of them were so deformed that they seemed to have no recognisable shape at all, just mouths and folded eyes and harsh, despairing sounds cut short at wheezing intervals. Some were only slightly malformed, or missing limbs, sitting quietly and dispiritedly where they were leashed. 

Avoiding detection here was proving tricky, but eventually, Altaïr took advantage of a brief, lucky accident involving a drover's cart, a ditch and a human patrol to flit over into the deep shadows of one of the high archways of the Coliseum. The stone was cold under his talons as he shifted into his human form, then into a rat, scurrying quietly from deep shadow to deep shadow until he could peer into the Coliseum itself.

He nearly wished that he hadn't. 

The Coliseum grounds seemed to be home to some sort of monstrous, grotesque morgue. Bodies were being piled into a huge mound of unmoving flesh, all caught in various degrees of rot and death wounds: men, women and children all. Bustling about the ragged men and women who were toiling at hauling over bodies from the slow stream of wagons filing into the Coliseum were the occasional stiff-striding guards, with more of the sniffer-vampires, and some men and women, singly and in pairs, walking briskly about and occasionally inspecting the mound of bodies. 

On a raised platform to a side was a trueblood, in a white, long vestment and dark breeches, his beard graying and whiskering up his cheeks, lecturing a cowering made vampire and occasionally gesturing at the bodies with annoyance. Eventually, he struck the made vampire across the face, slapping him with enough force to bowl him off the stage, and returned to a workbench, upon which was a small, circular green disc that pulsed intermittently with an unhealthy, organic glow. 

So this was how abominations were made, Altaïr decided, and shivered despite himself. And, if he recalled Desmond's descriptions correctly, this trueblood was known as Vidic.

He knew that he should leave, but a horrified fascination rooted him in place. As he watched, eventually a wagon bearing a struggling, shrieking, naked male trueblood trundled onto the grounds: God save them all, but he had never seen something like this. A silver collar, by the looks of it, and silver stakes through the wrists, knees and ankles into a heavy-looking, solid timber board; but what was probably really holding the trueblood in this form was a twin to the green disc, sunk deep into the trueblood's chest. 

Vidic made a gesture, and the trueblood was manhandled by several made vampires off the wagon, board and all, into a dais next to the small mountain of dead humans. The entire, ghastly procedure wasn't as long or as complicated as Altaïr thought it might be - Vidic simply headed back to his workbench, making a few complicated gestures over the disc, and the disc set into the trueblood pulsed a startling, fiercely bright green that forced Altaïr to look away quickly.

Blinded briefly, by the time Altaïr blinked away the spots in his enhanced vision, the mountain of bodies was no more - nor was the trueblood shackled to the board. Instead, where the bodies had been was now a deep, restlessly swirling pool of deep shadow. Judging by how none of the assistants or even the slaves seemed to react to this, crafting the abomination was probably procedure by now.

Not a good thought to have. 

Quietly, Altaïr turned to creep away - or tried to. Instead, he was frozen in place: he couldn't even twitch, and he couldn't shift, and-

"I do not know you, stranger... or do I?" Vidic mused from where he stood, without looking up, and his voice was audible as clearly to Altaïr as though Vidic stood right beside him. "Perhaps I do. Come here."

The amulet had not...?

He moved his hands over the disc again, and Altaïr found himself forced into the change, up to his human form, and he was stepping off the tier, jerkily, landing wrongly, hard enough that he could feel his knees crack from the impact, even with his vampire body. And yet, he could not even cry out from the pain. He was forced to limp, step by step, until he stood before the raised platform, chin up, and Vidic studied him critically for a long, silent moment. 

"Hn. You are not Italian. And the cut of your clothes, that bracer on your wrist." Vidic mused out aloud, then he smiled thinly. "I think you must have been one of Robert's pets, no?"

Altaïr grit his teeth, but thankfully, Vidic seemed disinterested in an answer. "I should kill you now," he continued, in the same, clinical tone. "But I do hate... waste, and I have never had the chance to investigate a freed 'made' vampire. Galeo?"

There was a pause, then a silver collar bit against his neck, and even as Altaïr wanted to writhe and claw and it, he still could not move, could not even gasp. Vidic had already turned away, writing something down in a book open on the workbench, his free hand making a dismissive gesture. "Take our new guest away. I will deal with him in time."

III.

The sweep had not revealed any armies, and in the morning, the call went out for the less defensible towns to be resettled. Leonardo had, if reluctantly, retired to Ezio's chambers, where he slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted in the bed.

Ezio was tired himself, but he was too worried to rest, and paced fitfully, quietly cursing his species' weakness to sunlight. If only he could be out there, watching over the people whom the Auditore had sworn to protect. If only-

"Ezio," Leonardo murmured from the bed, his tone wry, if weary. "I can't sleep with you doing that."

"Doing what?" Ezio asked testily. 

"You are-" Leonardo stifled a yawn, then he continued, "Very concerned. Of course you are right to be concerned, but there is nothing you can do to help your people until dark."

"I _know_ that," Ezio snapped, though he circled back to the bed and pulled himself onto it. His annoyance faded when Leonardo merely stared at him, bleary and unfocused, and he sighed, grasping Leonardo's outstretched hand in his and squeezing lightly. " _Mi dispiace_. Sleep. I will be calm."

"Mm," Leonardo murmured, with another yawn, settling more firmly onto his flank. Dishevelled and exhausted, Leonardo still somehow managed to look... well, _beautiful_ was the only word Ezio felt could even remotely describe him. Those thick locks of sandy hair, that lush mouth, his strong, tapered fingers-

"Ezio," Leonardo said reproachfully again, and this time he was amused. 

"You could hear that too?" Ezio asked, fascinated now, if a little embarrassed. 

"I think," Leonardo opened his expressive eyes briefly, "That proximity is making this... stronger. At the least. Perhaps sentiment. Circumstance. Statistically improbable."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Hmmyes," Leonardo yawned again, his brow furrowing, then he stiffened as Ezio impulsively leaned over to brush a kiss over his temple. " _Ezio_."

"That is my name, _Maestro_ ," Ezio purred, shifting so he was curled over Leonardo's stretched frame, his lips now brushing teasingly over Leonardo's ear. "And to hear it from your lips is divine." 

To his irritation, this made Leonardo laugh instead of blush, and Leonardo actually rolled onto his back to shoot Ezio a too-amused look. Stung, Ezio drew back, but a hand pressed up and behind his neck, holding him lightly in place. "Is that what you normally say to your human bondsmen to bed them?"

"Well, no," Ezio growled, frowning. "They do not usually need so much persuasion."

"Hm," Leonardo's lips twitched briefly upwards, "Small wonder, then."

"Small wonder _what_?"

"Well," Leonardo said, a little judiciously, "You are making me laugh." 

"Human courtship," Ezio scowled, "Is so _exasperating_." He huffed in annoyance when Leonardo let out another startled laugh at the comment, but he allowed Leonardo to tug him tentatively down, until they were lying nearly flush together; Leonardo tensed when Ezio slipped one arm under his cheek and pressed his free hand over one slender hip, their eyes on level, lips close enough that he could feel the warmth of Leonardo's all-too-short life. 

"You," Leonardo's smile was tentative now, "Are too handsome."

"That is not usually considered a character flaw."

"Vampires," Leonardo continued mildly, "Cannot mate with humans." 

"That does not matter-"

"Does it not? You and your brother are the last males of your line, with your father bound to the Duce and besides, vampires mate for life."

"I am bound to your life," Ezio pointed out, a trifle annoyed. "Or do you not remember?"

"Surely with what has happened-"

"Our laws are not to be overturned for convenience," Ezio said sharply, then he added, in a lower voice, when Leonardo flinched, "And besides, we are bound. Perhaps not like how the Duce and my father are bound, but I will have no other. Not in this life." 

"The _arkadaş_ system is not sexual, Ezio. They mate with other _arkadaş_. You could do so, and you should." 

"I do not want to," Ezio objected, irritated all over again. "I want _you_."

"'Want' is a far different creature to what is necessary, Ezio." Leonardo responded, all too mildly. "Your family-"

"My family can do what they like," Ezio cut in tightly. "I have this lifetime with you. I may have resented it at the start, but now I am glad of it - not of the circumstance that created it, of course, but of this consequence that has come of it. You _are_ mine now. And I," Ezio dropped his tone, turned in rough, "Am yours. You know this."

Leonardo's only answer was to take in a quick, sharp breath, like a high note of a breaking chord, and Ezio leaned closer, to close the last of every distance between them, every difference and doubt, to press his lips hard against Leonardo's, to pull them both together at last.


	25. Chapter 25

I.

Lorenzo had been obviously displeased when told that he would be remaining within Antonio's palazzo with Prince Suleiman, though Giovanni wasn't sure why. The Duce didn't exactly strike Giovanni as some sort of warrior-king. Perhaps it was just an act. Lorenzo was relatively young, after all, and trying to seem wiser and more competent than his years and abilities had to be complicated for a human.

He didn't like the other humans. The Venezia freeholders all stank of varying degrees of fear and hate, and Giovanni could see that it was beginning to unnerve Yusuf. They stayed pointedly separate from the human strike force, ostensibly to remain hidden until the monster had been drawn out, but he could see that most of Antonio's men were relieved.

The only woman, Rosa, was not so bad. She too was afraid, but she was less afraid than the others, and more curious than she was afraid. She had volunteered to stay with the truebloods, and now she crouched with them high on a church tower, watching as the human forces slipped across cabling and roofs towards the docks. 

"The Duce said that he's heard of these abominations before," she whispered to them conversationally. "Have you seen one?"

"Not I," Giovanni said neutrally. "I was away when the Templars sent one against my territory. It was slain in a joint effort between Lorenzo's men, my _condottieri_ , La Volpe and my mate." 

Rosa pulled a face. "We don't have military here. That's not good. Nor do we have a magus."

"But now we know what we are facing and how to counter it, and we are not on open ground." Giovanni hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. "And if Antonio and his men can lure it into solid form, we do not need a magus."

He had Lorenzo's silver dagger in his hand, and although he hated the feel of the silver even through the tightly wrapped hilt, he forced himself to bear it. Malik's reports had indicated that silver had been what had shattered the discs. Yusuf himself had drawn a silver dagger from somewhere in his clothes, and had set it down on the rooftop, watching the faintly-lit darkness before them avidly.

"Before, when I mentioned the _örek_ , you said nothing of this monster," Yusuf murmured to Giovanni, when he saw Giovanni watching.

"I prefer not to make assumptions." Giovanni lifted a shoulder into a shrug. Lorenzo had given a longer description of what Malik Al-Sayf had learned in the Auditore territories during the longer debrief. "Only until Antonio mentioned the discs did we know what it definitely was. Did you know of such devices?"

Yusuf shook his head. "The practice of magic that makes the _örek_ , it is forbidden. I have also never heard of an _örek_ that could be made out of one of the _meçkey_. I cannot imagine how such a thing can be done."

Neither did Giovanni, though he kept his disquiet to himself. When Venezia was Lorenzo's, when the problems in Monteriggioni were solved, he would have to send missives to the remaining _famigli_ territories, perhaps. Find out which had fallen to the same fate as the N'drangheta. Discover how many of the _örek_ they had to potentially face.

"How could a trueblood even be caught and subdued?" Rosa was asking in a low voice. "I assume they aren't killed outright before the spell is made. You guys turn into dust when that happens. No offence."

"None taken." Giovanni mused. "I have been thinking about this problem myself. It is difficult to capture a trueblood, but not impossible. My son Ezio..." He trailed off, as a sudden horror took him.

Ezio.

The silver coffin.

Jacopo's seemingly convoluted, roundabout way of trying to get Ezio killed.

How they had _assumed_ that it was simply Jacopo trying for Ezio's death.

Conti's people had been murdered, and Ezio had been left quite innocuously within the Church: had Leonardo not deduced where to find him, it was entirely possible that the coffin would have been left there until the advent of Michelotto's army. Mario also had been incapacitated by the _örek_ , not killed outright, according to Malik's last report. 

Michelotto, Jacopo, Francesco - all those incursions on Auditore land... had they been there to capture and subdue his family? Had they not been after Leonardo after all? 

It was a most disquieting thought, and for a moment, Giovanni was tempted to abandon Lorenzo and Venezia, to head straight back to his territory and check on his loved ones. Then Yusuf prompted, "Your son Ezio...?"

"No matter." Giovanni muttered. "Let us finish our business here quickly. I have something to discuss with the Duce."

"Another problem I had when the Duce was talking," Rosa piped up, "This monster that everyone fought in your lands, it had _one_ disc. I tell you, the one the Doge has, it has _two_." 

"Maybe it is powered by two of the _meçkey_ ," Yusuf surmised uncomfortably.

"Take out the discs and it will still fall." Giovanni said impatiently, then he added, when Yusuf stiffened, "Just be careful. If it seems impossible, retreat. No heroics." 

He had not been comfortable with the idea of Yusuf being on the attacking force, either, and had said this to Lorenzo when Suleiman and Yusuf had wandered somewhere quiet for a private talk before the assault. However, Lorenzo had been adamant that it was Yusuf's choice to make, and Yusuf could not be dissuaded.

Children.

" _You_ be careful," Yusuf retorted, though he grinned as he said this. "You have much pride. It is not good."

"Let's have the ego measuring later," Rosa said dryly, as a faint, hooting call could be heard over the rooftops. "It's time. Good hunting, guys."

"Safety and peace, Rosa," Giovanni murmured in response, and then he was an eagle, winging up into the sky.

II.

Lorenzo glowered out of the heavily barred window in the direction of the docks, his hands folded tightly behind his back. Giovanni and the others had been gone for a while, and judging by the time, they would start the assault on the docks soon.

He was a veteran of many skirmishes, many sieges and surgical strikes, all part of his lifelong efforts to retain Firenze's sovereignty and independence, and now his instincts were telling him that he had missed something. 

His new allies? Prince Suleiman seemed solid enough, surprising and possibly convenient as his presence was in Mestre. Antonio and the other hunters, who clearly disliked him? Possibly. He did not trust them not to turn on himself and Giovanni after Venezia was free. They would have to be careful there. He would have to send a contingent here to guard Leonardo, if this was where they would place Leonardo. 

Or... the Doge? 

"You seem worried," Suleiman ventured. 

The reinforced palazzo that Antonio and the hunters had taken over had cramped quarters: many of the larger rooms had been split into sectioned off living quarters, and free space was in high demand. The room they had been so 'kindly' escorted into was a... strategy room of sorts, with barred views out into the city and a door that led to a narrow balcony, along with tables crowded with maps, reports, books and letters. Suleiman was going through a pile with idle, slightly guilty curiosity: the letters they had brought from Mestre had made their own pile on a separate table for Antonio's later attention. Only a handful of the letters had been addressed to the hunters. 

"I _am_ worried," Lorenzo corrected. The chamber door was open, but there was a guard outside, and other guards in the palazzo itself. Not that many: most had gone to the docks, but enough that escape, if necessary, would be problematic. He rather doubted that they could make their way off over the rooftops.

"About the monster?" Suleiman asked, and then slipped into Turkish. "Or our new friends?"

It was Lorenzo's turn now to stumble in an unfamiliar language. "Both." 

"Yusuf felt suspicious about them." The rest of what Suleiman said was incomprehensible, and it probably showed on Lorenzo's face - the Prince smiled gently, and shrugged. "I do not worry," he said finally, in Italian.

"Oh?"

"We have plan." 

Lorenzo wasn't so sure about the efficacy of an abrupt plan thought up by two relatively young men who were little more than boys, but decided not to spoil Suleiman's evident self-satisfaction. "Assuming it is needed," he allowed. 

"Always good to prepare." Suleiman eyed him thoughtfully. "You said nothing to Giovanni."

"We were watched more closely." Lorenzo's tone was lowered, hopefully too soft for any hidden eavesdroppers to pick up. "And Giovanni does not react well to even mere suspicions. He would have refused to go, and we need this monster killed."

Suleiman's smile was wry. "You gamble big."

"That is the way," Lorenzo started to say, when there was a distant, rumbling roar so vast that the ground and tables jumped and shook. He yelped out a startled curse, then there was another roar, and in the distance, a sudden, massive plume of debris and dust, set against a dim, vast shape that loomed out of the skyline against the moon.

God save them all. 

"Is that..." Suleiman breathed, already at the window, wide-eyed. "It is so big!"

Malik's reports had definitely not done the monster they faced any justice at all, Lorenzo felt, dazed by the sheer enormity of the monster. The floor beneath their feet shook again, with another distant explosion of debris and dust, and there was a multi-tonal, furious howl that made the hair stand on the back of his neck in horror.

He could not see Giovanni or Yusuf, but even as they both strained to pick out details over the distance, there was a sudden clamor of an alarm bell, high and harsh in the palazzo. Startled, Yusuf jumped, and Lorenzo narrowed his eyes, stepping briskly to the door. 

Beyond it, men were hurrying past, their faces tight with concern and worry. "What is happening?" Lorenzo demanded, in his best commanding tone, and a couple slowed, one stopping.

"We are under attack." 

"Ugo, was it?" Lorenzo concentrated briefly. "Under attack? By what?"

"The Doge's mercenaries." 

Ah. So there it was. The factor he had overlooked. They were safe within the reinforced palazzo from husks and from vampires, but not from enemy humans. 

"Give me a sword," Lorenzo said evenly, and Ugo hesitated for a moment, then he gestured to one of the passing men, who stopped, frowned, then reluctantly unbuckled his scabbard and handed it over. It was a longsword, a touch heavier than what Lorenzo was used to and less well made, but Lorenzo felt better as he buckled it at his hip. Another man, at a second gesture, handed his sword to Suleiman, who hefted it and buckled it at his waist, looking practiced as he did so. Good.

"It's best if you and the Prince stay up here," Ugo said gruffly.

"Nonsense. You need everyone to repel the attack." At his side, Suleiman was already nodding. 

"We were told to keep you two alive at all costs," Ugo retorted flatly. "Antonio doesn't want berserk truebloods in the city. Use that sword if you have to, but stay back."

Staying back turned out not to be a viable option. The reinforced doors splintered in quickly under a heavy steel ram, and then it was chaos in the palazzo. Bottlenecked at the door, Ugo and his men gave every inch of ground with blood and bodies, but inexorably, they fell, one by one, giving ground up the stairway towards the floor that Lorenzo and Suleiman were on. 

Suleiman had his hand up to his neck, likely about to summon Yusuf, but Lorenzo said sharply, "Not yet."

"Not yet?" Suleiman repeated, surprised. "We are about to be overwhelmed!"

The floor beneath them shook again from a distant crash, and Lorenzo grit his teeth. "The fight at the docks is not yet finished."

"So let me call Yusuf. Giovanni can carry on alone."

"If you call Yusuf and he withdraws, do you not think that Giovanni will also withdraw? What will happen to the people there, then, alone against that monster?"

Suleiman stared at Lorenzo for a long moment, then he grinned as he drew the blade at his hip. His stance was ready and neat - probably better than Lorenzo's, Lorenzo had to admit. "So we hold out until... when?" 

"As long as we can."

III.

Giovanni's suspicion that the two-disc monster was, in fact, a prototype rather than some advanced version of the thing that had attacked his territory was quickly affirmed. The Doge's monster was slow, clumsy, and once out of shadow, seemed to struggle drunkenly, as though a single body run by two haphazardly synced minds.

It had likely been in Venezia for a while, after all: before the incursion had been organised into his lands, if it had replaced Emilio. Maybe its maker had only figured out how to improve its general design after it had been cast.

Due to its sheer size, it was still dangerous, though - it had destroyed three buildings by the time Giovanni finally managed to lash one of its fists to a palazzo with shadow. Yusuf had struck quickly and true, braced for impact, and although he had been knocked clean into the air when the disc had shattered, Giovanni had used shadow to catch the wildly spinning owl before it hit anything damaging. 

With one disc down, the creature had _moaned_ , staggering back as half of it slowly, inexorably began to dissolve from a vaguely coherent shape into a gradually collapsing skein of meshed bodies. Dimly, as Giovanni soared high out of reach of its remaining grasping fist, he could pick out a few pockets of Antonio's men, scrambling to safety, shaky with horror and disgust, vainly trying to help their injured and stunned away from the monster's reach. 

All except Rosa. Puzzled, Giovanni watched as the female hunter made a bee-line straight for the monster, leaping gaps in the buildings that he would have thought too far for her, jumping nimbly from sills to ledges and up to the top of a clock tower. "Hey!" she screamed from it, waving her hands. "Hey! You ugly fucker!"

The monster turned slowly to regard her, no longer swaying and smashing erratically into surrounding buildings, and it roared. Rosa answered it with another yelled stream of invective utterly inappropriate to any lady of remote dignity and bearing, and then started to laugh as it swung a fist towards the tower she perched on. 

She leaped away, nearly at the last moment, even as its fist crashed through and struck the bell within the tower with a resounding crash of brass, and rolled nimbly as she landed on the roof. Giovanni banked in the air, lashing the monster's fist to the building as it started to draw back, but even as he levelled, preparing to swoop down, silver flashed briefly bright in Rosa's hand, and a throwing knife struck the disc square on its face. 

The shockwave smacked the female hunter clean off the roof, but Giovanni hastily cushioned her fall with shadow, pulling her up onto another building. He circled down, but Rosa was already sitting up and laughing, making a indecent gesture at the slowly collapsing monster even as she did so. "I think I could have taken it by myself," she told Giovanni when she caught sight of him, grinning. "I'm bruised, but I'm all right." 

Giovanni was about to shift shape and respond when Yusuf abruptly shot past him, heading back towards Antonio's palazzo. Puzzled, Giovanni, caught a gust of wind, taking himself higher - then froze as he saw the distant, growing glow of _fire_. 

He had never flown so quickly and desperately in his existence.

Overtaking Yusuf was easy enough - the young trueblood was still winded from the impact with the disc - and Giovanni soon saw Lorenzo and Suleiman, struggling to climb onto the roof of Antonio's palazzo. Smoke and flames poured out of the windows, and there were still the sounds of desperate fighting within. For an awful moment, Suleiman's foot slipped off the edge of the roof, and he nearly dragged Lorenzo down with him, but then somehow, through some mad scrabbling, both humans managed to pull themselves up onto the tiles.

"Get us off this building!" Lorenzo called to him, the moment he was spotted, and Giovanni was shifting from eagle to horse, great hooves clattering and sliding on the tiles as Lorenzo and Suleiman clambered onto his back. He wheeled, hooves striking up sparks as he gathered himself first for a sprint, then, muscles bunching, to leap the gap between Antonio's palazzo and the next, closest roof.

It was a near thing, and he had to hastily cushion his impact with shadow, then he leaped again, making a jump that would have been impossible for a normal destrier, to land within the walled garden, snorting and stamping. He was about to look around for Yusuf, to coordinate their counter-attack on whatever it was that had attacked the palazzo, when a weight seemed to slip off him, landing heavily on the grass.

Lorenzo. Shocked, Giovanni stared dumbly for a long moment, even as Suleiman hastily dismounted as well, turning Lorenzo on his back - or he tried to: Giovanni was dimly aware of fury, of fear, of despair all at once, shadows bowling Suleiman away across the garden; he was shadow, then human-shaped, hissing and crouched over his master. 

An owl landed, shifting shape to turn into a familiar form - _Yusuf_? - hands clawed, crouched in a defensive stance beside the human gingerly picking himself up off the grass, who grabbed the intruder hastily by his ankle. "Yusuf, calm. Giovanni, Lorenzo needs medical attention. Do you hear me? Giovanni?" 

"Blood-madness," the trueblood rumbled warily. "See his eyes. I could sense it, was close, before. He spent too much. Hunger." 

Giovanni growled again, louder this time, in warning, as the human got to his feet, hands up and outstretched. "Friend, you have to let me close. Lorenzo's wounds need binding."

The human and the other trueblood flinched as Giovanni let out a liquid snarl in response, and he would have struck at them to warn them away - if fingers had not shakily reached up for him. His master's eyes were dull with pain, but lucid, and he was frowning as his fingers only managed to reach high enough to press jagged stains of blood over Giovanni's cheek. Hastily, Giovanni caught his master's fragile wrist, nuzzling it, licking at the blood-trail that was sticky-warm-wet up from his arm. He purred, rumbling, growing louder as his master unclasped the neck of his robes, shakily, then the second and third clasps, tugging back sticky and ruined fabric to bare the deep gash in his shoulder, then pulling his left arm free of the heavy sleeve with a harsh gasp of pain.

Something nagged urgently at Giovanni's mind as he bent towards the wound, then, frowning, he jerked back, blinking and shaking his head. The hunger was fading too slowly from his mind, but this was- it was- 

"Needs to be cleaned and stitched," his master - Lorenzo - was saying, his tone a little uneven with pain, but otherwise controlled. "Find something useful and come back. We're in the outer section of... hn... Antonio's palazzo, there should be kits about." 

"Giovanni is not in his right mind-"

"I can handle him. Just go." Lorenzo was gingerly backing himself up against one of the stone columns, wadding up his robe sleeves on either side of his shoulder, applying pressure to the wound with a grimace. He looked up when Giovanni hastened to attend to him, holding the makeshift compress in place. "Better now?"

"My deepest apologies-"

Lorenzo waved a hand dismissively, though he winced as he did so. "It was only to be expected. Yusuf was right. You've been over-extended of late and it's my fault."

"I nearly attacked Yusuf and Suleiman..."

"You can apologize to _them_ later." Lorenzo was frowning, even as his eyes were growing dazed from the blood loss. "Did you get the monster?"

"Yes." Another thought struck him. "Why did you not call for me _earlier_? When you were first attacked?"

"Obviously, because I needed you to destroy the Doge's monster."

"But if you had been slain-"

"As you can see, I am fine. Ah, Suleiman." Suleiman had edged back out into the garden, carrying a box of hastily pulled together supplies: even a bowl of water and cloth. "Come here."

"I'll go," Yusuf retorted, grabbing the box from Suleiman and edging over, watching Giovanni carefully every step of the way. Giovanni felt his intended apology die in his throat, though he managed to stay silent, if tense, as Yusuf warily cleaned the wound with the supplies, if clumsily, and then did an awkward job of the stitching and bandaging. 

Still, it was better than what Giovanni would have been able to do, and at the end of it, when Yusuf backed away to Suleiman's side, Giovanni said, "Thank you."

"No trouble." Yusuf said uncomfortably. "Problem now."

"Antonio's palazzo has been overrun," Suleiman explained. "The Doge's human army attacked." 

"Are we safe in here?" 

"We barricaded ourselves in," Suleiman nodded, "But the sun will come in a few hours."

Lorenzo glanced up at the sky, then back to Giovanni. "Giovanni-"

"No. I will not leave you."

"We need to get rid of the army."

"You're _hurt_."

"I'll keep." 

"I can't get into the palazzo regardless, remember? I was not invited."

"True," Lorenzo grunted. "Get up on the roof of this one, then. Kill all the mercenaries you see. Assist Antonio and his hunters. I'll be right here," he added, his tone measured and soothing. "If you want me to get better medical attention, the enemy needs to be driven back. Spare no one."

Giovanni scowled. "I do not like being manipulated," he said quietly, though he got to his feet. Lorenzo's answering smile was cold, and if Giovanni could not admire his ruthlessness at this moment he could at least admire his iron will. 

"Go," Lorenzo commanded, and Giovanni felt himself pushed into the change despite himself, into his eagle form, lifting into the sky with a piercing cry of challenge. He could see the mercenaries on the street scrambling to get indoors as they heard him, and he let out another cry as shadows killed them where they stood, spreading further, sending death across the streets of Venezia in his master's name.


	26. Chapter 26

I.

Volterra was attacked late the second morning, but much of the civilian population had long been moved safely to Colle di Van d'Elsa. Although it was difficult to watch from afar as Volterra burned anyway, pushing huge plumes of dark smoke against the pale blue sky, come the evening Leonardo's predictions were correct yet again.

In lieu of explosive traps, strategic locations had instead been 'mined' with pressure-sensitive devices that quietly spat silver dust when activated from being rolled over by something heavy. During the night, a quarter of Michelotto's army was found struggling and stranded, along with all of the siege engines, and watching from afar, Federico destroyed everything that he could with the reach of shadow. 

It was bloody but unsatisfying: too clinical, in a way, but that had been what Leonardo had recommended. Claudia, in her inexperience and rage, would only have hurt herself by flying too close, as much as she had fumed at being forced to stay home. 

"Do you think that is enough?" Federico asked, perched on the battlements beside Ezio, who was sprawled on a stack of crates of ammunition, Leonardo cradled possessively in his arms and asleep. Claudia had been set to watch the few patients still too seriously injured to leave the triage zone, and although she had scowled at first, Federico knew that his sister loved their bondsmen as fiercely as any of the Auditore. She would be attentive.

Ezio glanced over his shoulder into the distance, an arm tightening absently around Leonardo's waist. Dawn would come in a few hours, and Federico wasn't sure how that would work out. Whatever Ezio and Leonardo had done, Ezio was now restless and openly frustrated when separated from Leonardo, although he could still feed normally. Perhaps he was over-thinking it, Federico decided, if doubtfully. One did not need to be bonded to be possessive. Ezio was still relatively young, and Leonardo was a very beautiful human.

"We'll have to wait and see," Ezio said finally. "Our fortified towns are safe, if the siege engines are destroyed."

"They could jump in replacements from Roma. And that trap of Leonardo's will only work once." Federico hesitated. "Probably. Assuming that Michelotto hadn't figured out how it was done."

"Once Venezia is taken, perhaps Roma will have other concerns." 

Federico snorted. "A long shot. And the Duce's men are getting restless." Lorenzo's guardsmen had been deployed to the fortified towns to bolster the defenses, being clearly uncomfortable in Monteriggioni, but Federico knew that it was only a matter of time before they would be recalled to Firenze. It was a matter of necessity and morale: freehold humans never really got along with bondsmen for very long. 

Other than Leonardo, perhaps, but then, he was not a very normal human. 

Ezio was nodding. "Leonardo said that we should send them back in the next two days if there are no further attacks. He's been communicating with Malik Al-Sayf. They're prepared for an attack on Firenze even without their usual strength, but the guardsmen are getting fractious."

"I agree, they should go. With our thanks," Federico added. "We'll have to make some agreement about their wounded, but they seem content to have them mixed in the triage section as long as Leonardo remains in charge."

"There is something else that Malik mentioned," Ezio continued. "Apparently he sent a made vampire, Altaïr, to Roma to see if Michelotto's army had returned, and Altaïr has not returned. It has been days. Altaïr left for Roma at the same time that you returned to Monteriggioni." 

Federico arched an eyebrow. "Altaïr strikes me as very competent, even for a made vampire. He slew Robert, remember? And besides, Michelotto's army will not have returned to Roma - they were here all along, in hiding."

"Precisely. I think Malik is concerned. Altaïr should have returned to Firenze by now."

"Concerned?" Federico snorted. "The great hunter, Malik Al-Sayf? Over a made vampire? I doubt it. He could not even bring himself to reconcile with his brother Kadar, and Kadar was not affected by the Change." Kadar's sadness had been difficult to face - his wry, bitter acceptance of the situation, even worse.

"I think he was concerned that Michelotto had returned, and Altaïr disappearing was perhaps proof of that. Or that something else is happening and-"

"I think perhaps Altaïr was either careless, or that the Templars have found more new ways of detecting spies," Federico interrupted, with a shrug. "Or Altaïr may have found something else worth staying longer to spy on. He is not unintelligent." 

"And so," Ezio said quietly, as though Federico had not interrupted, "Kadar has offered to scout Roma and find out what might be delaying Altaïr."

Federico tensed up, then forced himself to smile tightly when Ezio arched an eyebrow. "You tell me this _now_?"

" _You_ were the one who flew off almost immediately when it was dark." Ezio's tone was mild, measured - so unlike the usually impulsive brother that he knew that Federico's glance dropped briefly to Leonardo's curled form, then back up to Ezio's narrowing eyes. 

"All right," Federico said, as neutrally as he could, and Ezio seemed to relax.

"If you want to go," Ezio said, equally mildly, "I think that Claudia and I can hold the fort." 

"Monteriggioni is more important."

"Not if whatever it is in Roma also concerns us. Isn't Roma the reason that the Templars pushed so far south? Withstanding the siege on our territories here is just a stopgap. Eventually the Duce and the Auditore will have to address Roma itself."

Reluctantly, Federico nodded, though he guiltily wasn't sure whether he was agreeing because of his concern and worry for Kadar or because of Ezio's reasoning. "That is true. And very logical," he added, teasingly. 

Ezio scowled. "It was Leonardo's logic. But he said that I should say it to you, because you wouldn't like to hear it from him. I didn't believe that but he was adamant."

"He would have been right. Not," Federico added hastily, as Ezio's scowl deepened, "That I do not think that Leonardo is in earnest, or that he has not acted honorably all this while, but he belongs to the Duce, Ezio. You should remember that."

"He belongs to _me_ ," Ezio corrected harshly, so much so that Leonardo stirred with a start and blinked owlishly in the chilly night, rubbing at his eyes, disoriented and yawning. Instantly, Ezio was stroking Leonardo's arm, murmuring soothingly into his ear, but Leonardo looked around, noticed Federico, and smiled a little sleepily.

"Ah, _buona sera_ , Federico. Was the hunt successful?"

"Very successful, _Maestro_. Monteriggioni owes you yet another debt of thanks."

Leonardo waved a hand disinterestedly. "We are allies." He hesitated. "Did you... kill everyone?" 

"It was necessary, _Maestro_ ," Federico said blandly, pitiless. For a strategist and a weapons engineer, Leonardo's heart was oddly soft. 

Leonardo's expression fell, and Ezio scowled briefly at Federico before murmuring something else into Leonardo's ear that made the human shift and glance down at his hands.

"I will be going to Roma," Federico added, his tone carefully light: the open intimacy between the two was starting to make him feel intrusive for lingering. "Thank you for notifying me about Kadar."

"Good hunting," Leonardo said soberly. "And be careful."

"I will be." Federico hesitated. "Ezio, could you tell Claudia for me?" 

"You are leaving right _now_?"

"Now would be the time." 

"La Volpe thought that you might," Leonardo said wryly, and reached into his pockets, then tossed Federico an amulet that was chilly to the touch, then abruptly warm. "This is something that he made for Altaïr - it came in with the messenger bird. It should prevent the... new made vampires from detecting you. Those that are like Desmond."

"Did it work, if Altaïr has not returned?" Federico asked dryly, though he tied on the amulet. 

"I do not know, I could not figure out how it worked and was disinclined to take it apart just in case that I broke it. I am afraid that magic is rather beyond me," Leonardo said, earnest and apologetic. 

" _Maestro_ , I was teasing," Federico laughed. "It is beyond most of us."

"There are other things that might have gone wrong," Leonardo looked briefly unhappy at the thought. "Be _very_ careful." 

"I don't want to have to come and rescue you," Ezio added, and though his tone was playful, his eyes were bright and worried.

"Just concentrate on running the fort, little brother." Federico hesitated, then added, "Three days. If by the third day I haven't returned-"

"You will." Ezio interrupted fiercely, and Federico stepped over, to clasp hands with his brother, then shake Leonardo's, before stepping back and pushing himself into flight.

II.

Ezio was subdued in the morning, strung between waiting anxiously for any new report of disaster and worry over his brother, and so, Leonardo stayed within the villa instead of heading out to the reconstructed workshop. He sketched by candlelight in Ezio's enclosed private chambers, balancing his sketchbook on a knee and Ezio's shoulder and head in his lap, and for the first time in a long while, found it difficult to daydream about machines of war.

He drew Ezio instead, until Ezio started to doze off, trying to capture the perfect line of his chin, the soft whisper of his lashes and the thick curls of his hair. It was impossible. Ezio's bird forms he had managed, and the bat, but Ezio as he was now seemed to elude him: nothing Leonardo drew seemed to be able to do him justice. 

Chewing on the end of his pencil absently, Leonardo had turned a page when Ezio murmured, dryly, "This isn't working. Either we both sleep, or we're both awake."

"Readjusting to your hours is proving challenging." 

Ezio rolled onto his back, his expression anxious until he noted Leonardo's wry smile, then he pouted - a look that had no logical reason to look as adorable as it did on a being centuries old. "How did you manage to sleep last night, on the battlements?"

"Poorly," Leonardo admitted. Even cradled against Ezio, Leonardo had been, for too long, used to comfortable beds and whatever luxury was available in the middle of a perennial war. Lorenzo was generous to his friends. 

"See." Ezio shifted to look at what Leonardo was doing, sprawling further and more heavily onto his lap. His eyes widened with a happy, innocent awe that Leonardo found both gratifying and rather embarrassing. "Ah, _Maestro_ , La Volpe may be the magus, but you are the one who makes magic."

"Your lines are getting worse. This is nothing," Leonardo said mildly, though he could feel his cheeks heat up a little. 

Ezio shifted upwards, grinning, and Leonardo's pencil and book slipped forgotten onto the carpet as they kissed, tentative at first, then more fiercely as Ezio got his graceful fingers into Leonardo's hair to pull him closer. He pressed his tongue briefly and curiously against the curl of one of Ezio's fangs, when Ezio opened his mouth for him, and Ezio _groaned_ , shuddering against him, his hands tightening for a moment before he pulled back with a soft gasp.

"You tempt me," Ezio said, his voice rough. "I could hurt you."

"The last time-"

"The last time I was surprised." 

" _Va bene_ ," Leonardo said soothingly, guilty. It had been an impulse, and a poorly thought of one - he could have triggered an _arkadaş_ bond, with disastrous results for Ezio. "My apologies."

Ezio gripped Leonardo's hands quickly, his expression anxious again. "Do not think that I do not want you in every way-"

"No, no, it was my fault." Leonardo leaned forward, and after a few brushing kisses Ezio was purring and pliant again, daring to press them both down onto the plush carpet. It was not as comfortable as the bed, but Ezio seemed disinclined to move when Leonardo tried tugging pointedly at his shoulders, leaning up to look him over instead, openly possessive: there was a growing warmth in Leonardo's gut, a hungry want that he did not want to deny but held carefully in check.

"You _are_ mine," Ezio said, but it was not so much a statement as a question, a plea. "Not Lorenzo's."

"I doubt Lorenzo has very much interest in bedding me," Leonardo said dryly, deliberately misunderstanding Ezio's implication.

Ezio's lip curled downwards, clearly refusing to concede the point. "Sex is the least of a hold that one human can have on another." 

Leonardo sighed. "Must we talk about this now?" 

"I know you want to avoid it. I want to know why."

"The answer," Leonardo said carefully, "Will upset you." He held up a hand quickly when Ezio sucked in a tight breath. "Ezio, every human has many loyalties. It is a human thing, and it is, in a somewhat different manner, a vampire thing as well. Your kind live longer, slower lives, however, and your loyalties are often uncomplicated: few things will survive the test of centuries. Often, your bonds are those of family, or those between yourselves and bondsmen, or sired vampires. It is rare for truebloods have great friendships: they only keep uncomfortable alliances at best. Even this war that your family and the others began against the Templar was out of necessity, yes?"

"You are trying to say," Ezio frowned, "That I will not understand."

"Yes. Lorenzo is my liege lord, yes, and my benefactor, my protector, all of that. But most of all, he has been my friend for much of my life, and a very great friend: that, above everything else, is why he has my loyalty. It is not a blind trust," Leonardo added gently, "But as long as he needs me, I will help him."

"I can accept that." 

"Can you?" 

"I meant," Ezio said irritably, "That I must and I will try. Lorenzo is not just important to you, indirectly, he is also important to me. My father's life depends on his, remember?"

"The Duce and I-"

"Enough about the Duce and you," Ezio retorted, with a hot flush of temper that the trueblood badly stifled when Leonardo's hands stilled from where they were stroking Ezio's arms absently. "I want everything else. Everything that you can give." 

Leonardo was about to smile and explain that this wasn't possible, either - other than the Duce, it was the nature of humans to have friends, and a handful of close friends, and other than that: also it was human nature to have priorities beyond friends. Still, the words died unspoken as Ezio kissed him again, pulling at Leonardo's shirt collar, and as Leonardo gasped when let up for air, Ezio growled, "Give me more." 

He could make Ezio beg, Leonardo knew, and more besides: Ezio would give him almost anything in the world now for this, and the knowledge pressed at him in the back of his mind and frightened him. Beyond their grasp of shadow, eternity had shaped truebloods into elemental creatures in truth: for unlike humans who sat constantly in a welter of mostly mild, sometimes conflicting desires and thoughts and wants and ideas, trueblood minds were clean and sleek and alien. Leonardo had seen this much in the church, and had been as fascinated then as he was now. 

Ezio growled again when Leonardo reached for his belt, deeper, and fumbled with Leonardo's breeches as well, getting into Leonardo's way more than he helped, until Leonardo laughed and rolled them around until he was straddling Ezio's lap, their breeches hurriedly shucked, glad that they had removed their boots earlier in preparation for rest. He spat in his hand and they ended up fitting together better than he had thought possible, their mouths hungry with bottled promise and Leonardo's hand tight and slick around them both. Ezio _whimpered _as the thick head of his beautiful, curved cock caught briefly against the ridge of Leonardo's, and he gasped as Leonardo squeezed them both and rolled his hips, drunk on the moment and on lust.__

__"Ezio," Leonardo whispered, and it was as though his tongue knew no other word, panting and rushed against Ezio's neck, pleasure a cresting tide within him and in Ezio too, he could feel it, through the want and pull in his mind and Ezio's shuddering breaths like sobs, his hands squeezed tight over Leonardo's hips._ _

__"Want to-" Ezio cut himself off, and he mouthed insistent kisses on Leonardo's neck, groaning as Leonardo tipped up his head to bare his throat on instinct, and there was another choked, "Gods, this-" and then Ezio was _grazing his teeth over Leonardo's skin_ and that was enough and too much all at once. The white rush of completion swept Leonardo boneless and dazed in Ezio's arms, and Ezio made a soft, wounded gasp as his hips twitched up urgently, begging silently until Leonardo could stir enough to get his fingers around Ezio's cock and stroke him urgently until he was spent. _ _

__"This," Ezio whispered, when Leonardo shifted to tuck his cheek against Ezio's shoulder, "This, no one else can have."_ _

__"Mm," Leonardo agreed, and let out a low, hoarse laugh when Ezio prodded his ribs, clearly demanding a better answer. "Ezio," Leonardo added dryly, "Before this, I think I mentioned that I was celibate. Do you think that I would turn into a hedonist overnight?"_ _

__"It is not funny," Ezio muttered, not reassured._ _

__"Oh, very well," Leonardo didn't bother to hide the smile in his tone, though. "You are very handsome, and you will never age, and you are most perfect, and-"_ _

__"Now you are laughing at me again!" Ezio protested, though Leonardo could feel his growing playfulness, influenced by Leonardo's mood. "You are most cruel, _Maestro_." _ _

__"Yes, I have been told that my sense of humour is a little unusual," Leonardo admitted. Lorenzo had summarily banned pranks after an amusing little incident involving inflatable skins and one of the palazzo drawing rooms - a rather large overreaction, in Leonardo's opinion._ _

__Ezio grumbled under his breath, but shadows dragged over a basin of water and a cloth, and he got them both cleaned up and over to the bed, curling against Leonardo's back instantly once they were settled. Leonardo picked at Ezio's arm, tightly curled over his waist, with light reproach, then stiffened as Ezio leaned down to nip at the back of his neck, nosing through his hair._ _

__"Just when we are like this... let me have this," Ezio said finally, when Leonardo was considering how to put down some ground rules. "I understand that you will be busy, most of the time. Outside." This was said with such ill grace that Leonardo chuckled again, despite himself, and earned another nip. "I keep thinking that you are not taking this seriously."_ _

__"Ezio," Leonardo noted softly, "You can... sense me now, can you not? Almost everything. Enough to know better than to say that."_ _

__Ezio tensed for a moment, then he pressed an apologetic kiss against the edge of Leonardo's mouth, twisting up to do so. "This is a new thing for me," he said, when he settled back down._ _

__"For us both." Leonardo sighed. "Your lifespan-"_ _

__"Don't think about that any further," Ezio interrupted, low and fierce, and Leonardo splayed a hand over the arm he had around Leonardo's waist, the touch of his fingertips light and reassuring._ _


	27. Chapter 27

I.

Giovanni had been openly restless when Antonio had personally taken out Yusuf's haphazard stitches and done a far better job of patching up Lorenzo. They were in the Doge's palazzo - Antonio's men had chased the fleeing mercenaries out of his burning palazzo and cut many of them down. Pockets of resistance remained, but the Doge had hung himself when they had stormed the gates to his palazzo, and now the great halls were boisterous with celebration.

Lorenzo had retired to a set of clean guest chambers when Giovanni had started growling softly under his breath, pitched just for Lorenzo's ears, and when they had closed the great doors behind them, Lorenzo shot Giovanni a questioning glance. "What is it now?"

"Too many humans," Giovanni's normally dry baritone was slurred again, and he curled against Lorenzo's back when Lorenzo glanced helplessly at the large, four-poster bed and settled for sinking into a divan at a curtained window. 

"And we don't like humans, do we?" Lorenzo couldn't help the sharpness in his voice, his control frayed from pain, blood loss and weariness.

"Most humans," Giovanni decided, though he grinned as he said this, and his tone sounded marginally more normal. 

"I should get a message back to Firenze," Lorenzo mused. "You could fly there tomorrow night. I might have to stay in Venezia for a while longer to coordinate the resettlements and the-"

Giovanni growled softly, cutting through Lorenzo's musing. "No."

"You should," Lorenzo struggled to keep it from sounding like an order. "Giovanni, do you not need to check on any news of Monteriggioni as well?"

Giovanni froze against his back, then he grazed his teeth lightly against Lorenzo's neck, rasping against the flesh but not piercing it. "I said that I do not like being manipulated."

"I wasn't manipulating you," Lorenzo retorted. "You've been away from your family for some time and I thought that you would have been more concerned."

"There, you are doing it again." This time, however, Giovanni seemed amused rather than irritable. "Lorenzo, your concept of 'time' is different from ours. I do not want to leave you here by yourself while you are wounded." 

"Well," Lorenzo said irritably, "I should be well enough to ride in a few days or so, if you _must_ remain stubborn." 

"You are in pain and trying to hide it," Giovanni retorted quietly. "You cannot lie to me." 

"It's obvious that I'm in pain," Lorenzo's reply was sharp, "I was just _stabbed_."

"I can take it away for a while. It'll help you sleep." Giovanni's tongue pressed lightly against his throat, and Lorenzo let out a shaky, hitched laugh. Giovanni's voice had dropped into that velvet purr of his, and despite his weariness, despite the burning ache in his shoulder, Lorenzo's prick still pressed eagerly against his thigh.

"Not... not there. Antonio and his men are skittish enough." 

"You've lost quite a bit of blood," Giovanni murmured, "I do not have to take any to help you with your pain." 

"Just the bite?" Lorenzo asked, curious all over again. "I thought it had to be blood magic of some sort." 

Giovanni huffed, a low and rumbling laugh that turned into a liquid purr as Lorenzo unclasped his robes, nervous at first, then more confidently, pulling off the damaged and soiled cloth to bare his shoulders and arms and back. He felt faintly ridiculous at first, but straightened up when Giovanni started to press soft, hungry kisses on his shoulders, open-mouthed, shockingly tender; Lorenzo felt guilty for a moment over Giovanni's mate, then forgot about the problem altogether as Giovanni guided him carefully down onto his back on the divan.

The first bite was just over his right nipple, and Lorenzo jerked with a low oath, startled, then let out a strangled moan as the pain seemed to be swept out of him all in a rush, as though washed clean by a cool splash of water. Against him, Giovanni purred, rubbing languidly against him, and in his dazed relief Lorenzo couldn't quite bring himself to shy away from the hot flesh pressed tight against his hip. 

The second bite was directly over the other nipple, and this time Lorenzo pushed his fingers hurriedly into his own mouth to stifle a cry. Giovanni had spiked this bite with ecstasy as well,and Lorenzo bucked urgently against him as a tongue lashed lazily over trapped flesh. Lorenzo had his free hand clenched in Giovanni's hair, and Giovanni's purr had turned into a low and constant, drunken rumble. 

Down - the bites trailed from his belly to his flank and then his hip, then Giovanni rasped, with his thumbs curled in the hem of Lorenzo's breeches, "Do you trust me?"

Lorenzo hesitated, long enough for Giovanni to lift himself up onto his elbows, and there was nothing reassuring in this: Giovanni's unbound hair was wild, his eyes so dark they were alien in the hungry, feral twist to his face; shadows had buried the bed around them both in ink and empty night. 

"Yes," Lorenzo said, and his voice was not quite calm enough for his dignity, but Giovanni cocked his head and shifted back, his hands going to Lorenzo's left boot, pulling it off with all the grace and reverence of an old family servant. When both boots were off the bed and Giovanni had his thumbs over the hem again, he tugged the fabric off slowly, like worship, his gaze roaming hotly over every inch of revealed skin.

Lorenzo hadn't ever particularly thought of himself as handsome before until now - but he caught and squashed that thought quickly as Giovanni growled and pressed a bite high up on his inner thigh, sparking enough pleasure through his veins to make his cock pulse. This wasn't sex, not the way Lorenzo had ever understood it. This was power, and he had always instinctively understood how to wield that more than any meagre physical charms he might have ever possessed. 

"Show me," he told Giovanni, and Giovanni bent instantly between his thighs, and lapped up, slow and unselfconscious, all the way up from balls to the tip of his cock and back down, Gods, this was _insane_. Lorenzo knew that he should stop, should back down somehow, gracefully, but reason was clawing its way into a slow death in the hot intoxicating thrill of doing something like _this_ , daring it, having a trueblood kneeling before him in service. 

Lorenzo sucked in a tight breath when Giovanni opened his mouth to take in the head of his cock, suddenly nervous again, but he didn't feel any teeth as Giovanni sucked him down, rumbling loudly. It was - Gods, the pressure - it was unholy and Lorenzo had to press his fingers into his mouth again, his hips twitching against the spools of shadow that held him down. Slowly - far too slowly - Giovanni dipped down as far as he could go, fingers clenching over the rest, the rumbling deepening as a badly caught groan leaked out from between Lorenzo's fingers despite himself.

It grew too much far too soon, and Lorenzo couldn't manage the words or thought to warn Giovanni when he was close, over the edge, then drowning: Giovanni didn't seem to care, growling deep in his throat and swallowing as though thirsty for it, Heaven, his brow furrowed in concentration. After, Lorenzo lay on the divan, struggling to catch his breath, limp and sprawled; Giovanni's bites had started to sting, faint, not unpleasant, reddened where they were, like marks. 

Frowning, Lorenzo pushed himself up on his elbows gingerly to inspect the damage. He couldn't feel the pain from his wound, which was pleasantly numb, but the bites were colouring red on his pale skin and he looked, Lorenzo realized to his irritation, very much ravished. By a vampire. 

" _Altezza_ ," Giovanni had slunk up to press against his flank, still hard, his eyes a little wild, " _Per favore_ ," he added, in a low, raw groan, when Lorenzo merely stared at him, and rubbed himself pointedly against Lorenzo's hip.

"I thought you were meant to help me sleep, not bite me all over," Lorenzo said, his voice too hoarse to be severe.

"I..." Giovanni seemed to shake himself, the unfocused hunger and want in his eyes pulled away, and then the vampire had the temerity to smirk. "You could have stopped me." Giovanni touched Lorenzo's wrist, his fingers tentative where his tone was insolent. "A little help here, _padrone_?"

"I'm not your lover. Take care of it yourself. Elsewhere, preferably." 

Giovanni's eyes flashed, and for a moment Lorenzo wondered if he had pushed the trueblood too far, but then there was a low, rough laugh, and a mocking kiss on his bared shoulder. "Sometimes I forget how young you are." 

Outrage chased away any residual guilt Lorenzo might have felt about the situation, about what he had just said, about even all but pushing Giovanni into the outright murder of over a hundred _condottieri_ during the last night. Lorenzo twisted over, glaring, only to meet Giovanni's lazy, self-satisfied amusement, and after a long, tense moment, he decided that losing his temper over this would only damage his own dignity. 

Irritated, he settled for dressing himself again, even to the point of pulling his boots back on, though he hesitated for a long moment at the bloodstained robe. Wincing a little, he got to his feet and picked up the taper at the side table. He felt sluggish, but pleasantly tired: at his first stumble, cool hands pressed against him to steady him, and Giovanni guided him over to the wardrobe in the guest room. 

There were spare robes in several sizes, including one which almost fit, if it was a touch too long at the wrists, a deep storm gray in colour, well-made. Lorenzo put it on, in case Antonio or any of his men decided to wander by to spy on them during the night and saw all the bites on him, and allowed Giovanni to settle him on the guest bed. 

Arousal seemed to have bled away from the trueblood - his touch was solicitous, tender without being demanding, and when Lorenzo was comfortable on the sheets, the young duke murmured, hesitantly, " _Mi dispiace_." He couldn't explain. Allowing Giovanni to... service him was one thing, but to give Giovanni pleasure in return, to touch him so intimately... Lorenzo's instincts shied away from the thought, wrapped as they were in curiosity and not a little lust. He could not - not now, at least. Not yet. 

There was a snort from Giovanni, then the great black wolf was padding up onto the bed, shaking itself out for a moment before it settled itself with an air of grand irony by Lorenzo's feet. When Lorenzo started to protest, it pointed its nose briefly at the door with a tilt of its head, before curling up. 

"Thank you," Lorenzo said softly, as the taper burned out. "For everything." 

He could hear the wolf's tail thump once and heavily against the sheets, and then he was asleep.

II.

The Duce looked openly surprised to see Malik when Malik strode into the great courtyard of the Doge's palazzo late in the afternoon. It had been a hard ride up to Mestre, then a quick trip over the waves to Venezia once he had talked one of the Mestre citizens into helping him.

"You are still injured," Lorenzo said reprovingly, as he stepped closer and bowed. Lorenzo was standing before a long workbench that was covered with nautical maps and land maps, and the courtyard was buzzing with people. Beside him was a... one of the Ottoman people, judging from his skin colour and the make of his clothes. Malik stared at the young man in frank curiosity, and the man met his eyes with arched eyebrows. 

"I am healing. I had news. And it is nearly a week, _Altezza_. We were concerned."

"As you can see, I am fine." Lorenzo said dismissively, though Malik noted the stiffness of his poise. An injury, hidden under the new, gray robes. "Venezia is ours. Unfortunately, its citizens had been sorely used. Much of its base infrastructure is in chaos and I've been overseeing the implementation of something more civilised. The ports are nominally open and communication has resumed with Mestre. The defenses of the city are still in shambles, though, and those disc monsters can cross water."

Malik noted the irritation on Lorenzo's face and nodded solemnly. "It was never going to be a perfect fix." 

"No. But I thought - never mind. We needed the dockyards, regardless." Lorenzo scowled at the map. "The Doge's _condottieri_ have surrendered and we've exiled them. It's going to take time to create any sort of workable naval force, but at least the coastal attacks on freehold townships have been stopped."

"Do you need to be here to oversee that, _Altezza_?"

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes, then he murmured something to the Ottoman boy, who nodded slowly. "Come," Lorenzo told Malik, and Malik followed him into the palazzo. 

He had been expecting it to smell of death, but the stately building was clean and bustling with human life, hurrying about with reports or chatting animatedly, relaxed. Relief hummed through the large chambers, people smiled often, and many who recognised Lorenzo nodded to him respectfully. More than a few eyed Malik with veiled or open curiosity, but said nothing as Lorenzo led him out of the sunlight and into the upper floors, where every large window had been draped. Lorenzo lit a taper from the wall, passed it to Malik, and slipped a hand up under the collar of his robe. 

There was a moment of silence, then Giovanni stepped out of the shadows, alert and careful - he glanced at Malik, then back to Lorenzo, even as yet _another_ trueblood appeared, this one younger, and from the look of his clothes... "An _arkadaş_?" Malik guessed.

"Yes," the _arkadaş_ grinned with boyish pleasure, looking him over closely, then he added, " _Salam aliekom_."

"Good guess," Lorenzo noted. 

"Hardly. Even in the Empire we have heard of Malik Al-Sayf." 

"Really?" Lorenzo seemed surprised, and amused when Malik reddened a little, embarrassed. "Well then. Malik, this is Yusuf. As you guessed, he is Suleiman's _arkadaş_."

"The grandson of the Sultan?"

"It is complicated," Lorenzo noted delicately. "But Suleiman and Yusuf are our allies." He began to walk with a quick stride down the darkened corridor without a further word, leading them into a larger, similarly darkened study not far away. The books that had once lined the shelves were gone, and recently gone, judging from the dust marks, and the table was bare. Lorenzo sat himself in the sole chair by the table, and nodded to Malik.

Heeding the unspoken order, Malik outlined all that had happened so far since the last Lorenzo had been in Firenze, keeping his tone neutral and flat. His hand itched to go for the silver blade at his hip, especially when Giovanni stiffened and inhaled sharply once he described the assault on Monteriggioni proper, but the trueblood said nothing at all, even when Malik reached the latest report from Leonardo about how Michelotto had likely fled to Roma, about how Federico had taken off after Kadar. 

"Thank you for coming here," Lorenzo said formally, when he stopped talking. "Given that your injuries are yet unhealed."

Malik frowned slightly - they had just had this exact conversation in the courtyard - then glanced at Giovanni sharply, understanding Lorenzo's intent. Giovanni's head was bowed, his hands clenched, and at his feet, around them all - it was all Malik could do not to jump up onto the desk. God, the _floor_ -

"It was my duty, _Altezza_ ," he said instead, just as formally. "Firenze needs your presence."

"Firenze is well-defended still, is it not?"

"As well as it can be. Our men are returning from Monteriggioni. As I have said, Leonardo believes it unlikely that Michelotto's army would have remained on Auditore lands when bereft of so many men and their siege engines." 

"And how is Leonardo?"

"Passing well."

They spoke in determined small talk, even as Yusuf stared with startled concern at them all, until finally Giovanni untensed and said, tightly, " _Altezza_ , may I have a word with you in private?"

"Once it is dark, you may leave if you wish." Lorenzo said instead, evenly. "I'll be fine here, with Malik." 

"Leave Malik in Venezia, I'll take you back to Firenze at first dark." Giovanni countered. 

Lorenzo glanced at Malik, who lifted a shoulder into a shrug. "If you wish, _Altezza_." 

"All right," Lorenzo said reluctantly. "Suleiman learns fast, I think he should be able to handle a great deal of the administrative matters. He makes good decisions, wiser than what his age would suggest. Assist him and guide him, and return when Venezia is stable." 

"Are _you_ well enough to ride back to Firenze, Duce?" Malik asked pointedly. 

"I am," Lorenzo retorted, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. "Now, about Roma. Your thoughts?"

"Once I am done with Venezia, I propose taking one or two trusted hunters and investigating it myself. In disguise. They'll ignore the appearance of a couple more human slaves about, and I won't be the only one missing a limb."

"Your skin colour-"

"Robert de Sable brought slaves from Syria," Malik's tone was flat with disgust. "There'll be some of them about in Roma."

Lorenzo looked openly doubtful, though when he said, "I'll think that over," Malik knew that he had won. 

He couldn't quite explain the worried tension that had set within him once it was clear that Altaïr had been inexplicably delayed, or the instant regret he had felt when Kadar had insisted on looking for him - and had flown off before Malik could object. There was something dangerous in Roma, and it had swallowed the two last, great memories of the people he had... treasured most... in another life in Masyaf, and he could not abandon them without trying.

"Suleiman and I can handle Venezia," Yusuf said, in his accented Italian, then. "And we are already associated with you. Malik should return." 

"Giovanni won't match pace with a normal horse and I don't like Malik riding out at night when he hasn't fully recovered," Lorenzo disagreed, though his tone was faintly apologetic - unusual for the normally self-assured ruler of Firenze. "Stay a day or so, I think. At the least."

"As you wish, _Altezza_."

"Giovanni," Lorenzo said then, hesitated, then continued, "I am sorry about your loss. If-"

"Save it," Giovanni said curtly, and stepped back, immediately swallowed by shadow. After a moment, the room was back to normal - the trueblood was gone.

Not that he would be far away. Still, Malik couldn't help but relax. "He took that better than I thought he would," Malik admitted, when Lorenzo looked at him questioningly.

"He is far older than all of us combined," Lorenzo pointed out, though he looked troubled. "But we have what we want," he added, more briskly.

"Leonardo is still in Auditore territory."

"By the sounds of his reports - and Leonardo does not exaggerate - he is now in charge of strategy and the medical efforts in the fort. I doubt he is in any danger."

Malik nodded slowly. If the Auditore blamed Lorenzo at all, Leonardo's letters would have implied... something. Though then again, just because the pups were inclined to be reasonable didn't mean that their father would be. "I'll tell him to be careful."

"Leonardo," Lorenzo noted dryly, "Will almost always do whatever he pleases, despite appearances. But you are welcome to try and convince him."


	28. Chapter 28

I.

Not being the sort whom would wait about to be rescued, Altaïr had finally managed to escape while in transit between the holding pens at the Coliseum to some unknown location. His captors had assumed that the dawn would be enough to hold him inside a filthy old slave pen and hadn't bothered with difficult chains: Altaïr had picked the locks on his shackles, found his equipment, wrapped rags around his hands and the lower half of his face, and had run out into the sun, tugging his hood as far as it could go over his eyes.

There had been shouts and startled cries from the few human guards assigned on watch, but he was far faster than them, and after a few dizzying, frightening near-blind runs, he finally outran all pursuit, and found the wrecked shell of an old farmhouse, heaps of half-rotten hay still left untended. Burrowing into the warm dark of one of the hay mounds was sheer, blissful relief - the sun had gotten to a few slivers of skin during his flight, and those had already blistered badly. 

As he lay quietly, Altaïr counted time quietly in his mind. He had been fed briefly from a cup - half-congealed blood, barely edible - only a day or so ago, and had been in the holding pen for at least two days before that. He'll have to get back to Firenze, or-

Or what? 

Surely Malik wouldn't go as far as to send aid. Even on the back of whatever brotherhood he still felt for Altaïr... or...? No. Malik would not send aid.

But to send another scout to check on Roma? That would be prudent. Another of the Cursed, instead of one of the humans, most likely.

Would Malik send Kadar?

Altaïr felt an instinctively resistance against the very thought, before he let out a slow, silent huff of wry laughter, mirthless. Of course Malik would send Kadar. Kadar, after all, could now fly. Kadar had been scouting for Robert de Sable. And Kadar was dead: what remained was merely his shell. Malik might be entertaining thoughts of heresy, but it was obvious to Altaïr that Malik's current loyalties lay fully with the Duce of Firenze.

So. He'll have to find Kadar, then. Before Kadar made the same mistakes that Altaïr had. 

Altaïr had spent his time in the holding pens thinking carefully over every step of his path, wondering where he had gone wrong, and at the end, after a lot of consideration, had decided that the impossible had clearly happened. Who else could turn away the magic of a magus of La Volpe's stature save another magus? Who could have done what Altaïr had witnessed in the courtyard?

One of the Magus had been turned. 

Vidic was not a trueblood at all, not as Desmond had thought. Somehow, a Magus had been turned, and from the shell of a mortal man gifted with magic had been meshed the shadow of chaos. Altaïr blinked slowly and wonderingly, the pain from his burns briefly forgotten. Al Mualim had always taught that the Magi could not be turned - they died rather than succumbed to the blood curse. The Magi, after all, were effectively living vessels of magic: creation magic, if Al Mualim was to be believed; while vampires were their opposite - the children of the dark, vessels of chaos magic. Neither could become the other: or so it had been thought. 

Kadar would have to be retrieved and they would have to take the news back to Malik immediately. Altaïr had never tried to spy on one of the magus before, let alone a turned one: he had no real idea how to proceed. 

Unfortunately, now that he was giving the Coliseum a wide berth, finding Kadar turned out to be far more difficult than Altaïr had thought. He had circled the surrounds several times before considering the possibility that Kadar had not been sent after all, that he should just return to Firenze, when, perched quietly in a tree as a small barn owl, he had overheard one of the guards with a sniffer-vampire talking to one of the guards outside the blood-pens.

"-doubling the guard, Piero?" 

Piero relaxed slightly from where he stood at attention outside the blood-pen doors. "That made vampire we caught a few days back escaped. Vidic thinks that he might still be hanging around. If he is, he's going to need to feed."

The sniffer-vampire whined, and Altaïr froze for a moment before he realized that it was just snuffling around mindlessly. Its handler snorted. "If that made has any sense at all, he'll be fleeing for the border by now. Vidic's paranoid." 

"The enemy's obviously taken to using mades as spies. We caught another one this evening." Piero smiled unpleasantly. "A familiar one, too. Remember Robert de Sable's pet?"

"Malik Al-Sayf's brother?" the handler let out a low whistle. "Huh. Maybe the Syrian mades aren't as smart as I thought they would be. If I was that boy, I would've been halfway across the continent the moment I was free." He lowered his voice at this last. "Lucky our sire's nothing like Robert."

The rest of the conversation was inconsequential, and Altaïr sat in the tree for a long time, considering his next move, even when the handler had moved off. 

His escape had probably doubled daytime security measures, even if they moved Kadar out of the high security holding pens - which they might not. Still, as long as Vidic wasn't in the vicinity and the amulet worked, Altaïr was fairly confident of his ability to infiltrate even the holding pens - if that was where Kadar was. 

To his irritation, after expending a great deal of effort over two days learning patrol patterns, blind spots, stealing a key and finally sneaking back into the pens, Kadar wasn't in there, nor were there any signs that there had ever been a new prisoner after Altaïr himself. Hungry and annoyed, Altaïr retreated to the outskirts. He had found an old farmhouse a day before, mostly ruined, which had a cellar hidden under shattered furniture - the cellar had two exits, which suited Altaïr fine. It hadn't been used or found for a while, from the looks of the dust in it. 

Today, when he let himself down into it, however, he could see part of a print, left on one of the ledges, unnoticeable save to the sharpened senses of a vampire. Quietly, Altaïr went into a combat-ready crouch, wondering whether to retreat when it was so close to the dawn, when deeper into the dark, Malik said out aloud, "You never change."

Startled, Altaïr straightened up so quickly that he nearly stumbled down the rest of the narrowly cut, uneven steps. "Malik? What are you doing here?"

"You and Kadar went missing." 

"Kadar has been captured, I was looking for him." 

"I know. On both counts." A taper was lit, and Altaïr saw that Malik was sitting on an old barrel, dressed like one of the human slaves would be dressed, in discoloured old clothes that were barely more than rags, and uneven bandages and sandals. Malik smirked at Altaïr's expression. "You haven't been as subtle sneaking about as you thought."

"I _thought_ that I would have retrieved Kadar by now." Altaïr retorted, leaning against the wall behind him and folding his arms. "It's reckless for you to be here. You're very well known. Among the slaves-"

"No one has recognised me yet. They look at the clothes, and the attitude." It was as though a lever had been pressed - Malik's confident, deadly air of competence abruptly dropped, his shoulders slumped, his expression becoming pinched and servile. Altaïr was so startled that he nearly stepped away from the wall - only for Malik to revert just as quickly into his usual self. 

"I've never seen you do that before," Altaïr said finally.

"With my disadvantages," Malik gestured at his missing limb, "I had to learn a few other tricks." 

Altaïr nodded slowly. One-armed, Malik Al-Sayf had still emerged as the most successful vampire slayer in Syria: and Altaïr had himself heard several tales, some more improbable than most, of the mayhem Malik had wrought when he had been working his way up towards Italia, into the Duce's employ. Malik had destroyed the human farms in Plovdiv, salted the killing fields in Zagreb, slain the Scourge of Novo Mesto and more. If he could employ disguise as successfully as it seemed, it would go a long way towards explaining his successes. 

"It is impressive," Altaïr said finally, and when Malik frowned a little at him, he added, with a defensive edge to his voice, "It obviously works."

Malik opened his mouth, then hesitated, then seemed to change his mind, and muttered instead, "So, what has happened?" 

Altaïr updated Malik briskly on his initial trip to the Coliseum, of what he had seen, of what had happened, of his escape from the half-way pen, and finally of his search for Kadar. He finished with his opinions about Vidic, and through it all, Malik was silent, nodding thoughtfully now and then, his eyes a little distant. If not for their circumstances, if not for what Altaïr now was, Altaïr would have laughed at the familiarity of it all. He was giving a debrief, and Malik was listening in the absorbed, analytical way he always had, back in Masyaf, in the way that had earmarked him early as a future bureau leader had he but gained a few more years' experience.

But now they were far from their lands of birth, and Altaïr was far from grace. It was a sobering thought, and his mood was dark again by the time he was done. 

"I think you are right about Vidic," Malik said finally. "I will have to let La Volpe know."

"You will go back to Firenze?"

"There are a few of the Duce's spies scattered about. I will get one of them to take a message. Or perhaps you could return."

"If Kadar is in danger-"

"Federico is here, somewhere. I have not run into him, but I have heard the guards discussing sightings."

Altaïr hesitated. On one hand, Federico was a trueblood, and could do far more to help Kadar than Altaïr ever could. On the other hand- "But you do not know where Federico is." 

"True," Malik admitted. "Still, you are hungry and you'll get no food here. After your escape, the guard on the blood-pens has doubled." 

"I'll be fine." 

To his surprise, Malik scowled. "You are as stubborn as ever. How many days have you gone without blood?"

"Only a few. I was fed in the pens."

Malik let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. If you're going to... come here, Altaïr." 

Warily, Altaïr took a few steps closer, then strode sharply to Malik's side and grasped his wrist quickly when Malik picked up the silver-wrapped blade by his hip, pushing up the rags and sleeves over his shoulder stump, making as if to cut a line over the scarred flesh. "What are you doing?"

Malik stiffened at the proximity, though his eyes were narrowed, unafraid. "I need my sword arm and I don't want to risk a limp."

"I'm not about to feed from _you_."

"Then, who?" Malik challenged. "I need your help here. We face at least one trueblood and one turned magus. Federico is missing and the rest are probably disinclined to leave Monteriggioni for now."

"Not good odds."

"I saw that," Malik said caustically. "But at least the Barbarigo are second-thinking their alliance. They've withdrawn with their troops to Frascati. What's left of the Pazzi have withdrawn back to their holdings as well. So only the Borgia and that Vidic are left, and of the Borgia, I think only Rodrigo. He has sent Lucrezia back to Spain. Michelotto has returned, but his pet rogue magus is burned out and mostly dead, I hear."

"So it could be worse," Altaïr said dryly, "That's what you're trying to tell me." 

"And it could be better." Malik scowled. "I was feeling better about our chances until this news you had about Vidic." He frowned, eyeing Altaïr more closely, studying his still-healing wounds. "Are you... so it is true. You escaped by running out into the sun." Malik's lip quirked briefly upwards. "Only you, Altaïr."

Altaïr scowled. "It worked, did it not?"

"I was not criticising it," Malik arched an eyebrow. "So. Do you want to drink, or not?" When Altaïr did not respond, Malik added, with some of his usual asperity, "I will not count it against the debt I owe you-"

"No, no, that is not..." Altaïr sucked in a slow breath. Unease hummed through him, and he _was_ hungry, but this - this was _Malik_. 

Even when he had been alive, he had always been drawn to the prickly, frighteningly competent Brother, despite their frequent quarrels and personality clashes. He could not explain it, no more than he could explain magic; to Altaïr it had always been an inevitable thing, this uneven tension between them: it had nothing of tenderness, and any intimacy it bore had a restless unpredictability to it. 

He found that he was drawing closer, despite himself, breathing deep: Malik had been working in the sun, and he smelled of it: of the warmth of God, of hay and wood and broken grass. Malik watched him, but didn't even tense or draw back, until they were so close that Altaïr's eyes were dilating, one hand pressing silently against the crumbling stone wall: he could hear the staccato thump of Malik's quickening heart and-

It was Malik who broke first, to Altaïr's surprise - he uttered something strangled and incoherent and his only hand grabbed at the back of Altaïr's neck, tightly, dragging him over to crush their lips together. Startled, Altaïr nearly jerked away, careful of his fangs, but then: by Heaven but it was bliss, just to feel the warmth of a living soul against his skin, his lips; he groaned as Malik licked tentatively at his lips, into his mouth, allowing Altaïr's hands to press tentatively up under his ragged tunic. A moan from the both of them stuttered into a deeper, maddening kiss when Malik pressed the tip of his tongue lightly against one of Altaïr's fangs, teasing him. 

Dimly, Altaïr was surprised to taste desperation on Malik, bittersweet and startling, and he found himself drawing Malik's tongue deeper, hungrily, as if he could by touch and taste alone remember what it was like to be warm, to be _alive_ and still wrapped in God's grace. Malik's hand was creeping up, into his hair, knocking back his hood, then stroking up to his cheek, to press a thumb with ruthless curiosity over the sun-blistering edges of one of the wounds swept across his face from where the rags had slipped. Altaïr growled in response, but allowed it, allowed Malik to kiss him until even the demon of thirst within him was pliant and still, until his growls and moans turned into deep, rumbling purrs.

When Malik pulled back, he studied Altaïr again, soberly, then he smiled, thin as a knife, tugging open the wide collar of his ragged tunic with a sharp jerk, and drew his blade in an economical, shallow gash over his shoulder. This time, Altaïr made no objection when pressed towards the wound, licking greedily; he felt none of the revulsion he normally did from taking blood, only gratefulness, only an awed pleasure that had nothing of the black blood-thirst to it. He knew what this was. Malik had never been one for speeches or pretty words. This gesture, in its simplicity and trust, was the true depth of Malik's forgiveness, more than ritual, more than faith. 

Altaïr's cheeks were wet when the wound eventually closed, but when he tried to pull away, awkwardly, Malik's hand caught against the back of his skull, holding him still, so intimately close to the pulse of life just under the skin pressed yet to Altaïr's parted lips. Malik's breathing was unsteady, his breath hot and stuttered against Altaïr's cheeks, and Altaïr was again surprised when he breathed deep and scented _desire_. 

"You," he murmured thickly, against Malik's skin, and Malik shuddered, his hand squeezing briefly tight before he let go, and Altaïr took a step back so quickly that he nearly stumbled. 

Malik was already tugging his disguise back in place, his legs crossed to hide any hint of his reaction, but his cheeks were flushed in the light from the taper, his eyes wide and dark and deliciously hungry, just the way Altaïr remembered. He could feel his throat clenching, and there was an ache within his chest that felt as though it was driven soul-deep: for all that he had wasted in life.

And then Malik Al-Sayf the hunter was in control again, his tone clipped and efficient, his expression neutral. "I think we should coordinate our efforts," he said, with only the hint of a hitch to his voice. "My movements are restricted during the night. We need to find my - we need to find Kadar. I think I have a better chance of that than you do. You should concentrate on locating Federico."

Altaïr nodded slowly. Malik's disguise would allow him to eavesdrop more freely on the guards, and no doubt the slaves themselves had fairly free access across the grounds: he had seen them everywhere. "Does he have one of those amulets? Of La Volpe's?"

"He should. If he has been careful, he is still out there." 

"Will his father come for him? Or his brother or sister?"

Malik shrugged. "Who knows how the truebloods think? I believe we should proceed on the premise that we should not expect relief or reinforcements. Tomorrow I will get myself attached to one of the labor gangs working the districts in Roma itself, and direct the Duce's spies to spread out. There is a holding pen within the city, he might be in there."

"How do I contact you? Or follow you?"

"Find Federico. Once you have, he should be able to locate me." Malik hesitated a moment longer, and then added, "When we are all free, perhaps then we can think of a way to get rid of Vidic."

"He is a magus and a vampire. You will need La Volpe, at the least."

"True," Malik lifted a shoulder into another shrug. "But we can try. Explosives, perhaps. It is something to consider." 

"I want to know what the Templars have found here - whatever it is that has brought them here," Altaïr said quietly. "Maybe it is a weapon that can be turned against them."

"That is a very great assumption," Malik retorted, though his tone was thoughtful rather than rebuking. "Perhaps."


	29. Chapter 29

I.

It had been longer than Federico's promised three days, and Giovanni was clearly restless. Still, he refused to leave his mate, and the situation was beginning to deteriorate. It had been five days since Giovanni had flown down from Firenze, and he had not fed: Ezio was openly worried, and Claudia had taken to darting anxious glances back towards the villa even when she was helping Leonardo with the last of the heavily wounded in the triage area.

"I could ask the Duce to come to Monteriggioni," Leonardo said doubtfully, when he was washing his hands after they had helped to move the last of his patients back to his home. Ezio had gone to oversee the construction efforts, though he was not far - he was perched high on some scaffolding, within sight of Leonardo. Around them, bondsmen were beginning to efficiently pack down the makeshift triage area. 

Claudia's expression swept from irritation to relief to curiosity. "Are you not worried that Father would hurt him?"

"The last time, his hunger stretched seven days and he did not hurt Lorenzo."

"No, but..." Claudia hesitated, with another glance towards the villa. " _This_ time, he is... very upset."

"Naturally. What happened to your mother is a tragedy."

"She will recover," Claudia said firmly, in the earnest manner of the young, even though she was far older than Leonardo himself. "But Father was very close to Uncle. They have been the best of friends most of their lives. And... to lose Petrucchio as well-" 

Her expression clouded, and Leonardo clasped Claudia's hand comfortingly. "He still has Maria. And you, and Ezio and Federico." 

Claudia seemed to want to say more, then she hesitated instead, looking over Leonardo's shoulder. He turned, curious, and straightened up when he saw Giovanni approaching him. The Auditore patriarch's expression was pinched, his ageless eyes haunted, and he looked worn and weary the way Leonardo had never seen a trueblood look. No shadows flickered in his wake, as though everything had been bottled tight, and even as Leonardo started to greet him, Ezio appeared at his side, a hand pressed to the small of his back.

"Father," Ezio said warmly, though his touch lingered possessively. Giovanni glanced at his son's arm, then up to Leonardo, and he smiled, humourless. 

"So soon?"

"It is not what you think," Ezio said, a note of steel threading into his voice. Leonardo sucked in a slow breath when Giovanni's eyes narrowed in turn, and he stepped forward quickly, away from Ezio's touch.

"How was Maria?" Leonardo asked, keeping his tone professionally brisk. "I am afraid that my schooling in the Medica was perhaps inadequate by way of injuries which have no visible wounds, but I have done what I thought was appropriate."

"She is comfortable, and I think that she is improving. Slowly." Some of Giovanni's tension seemed to ebb. "I have heard that I have you to thank, for the fortification of Monteriggioni and the preservation of our lands and people."

"Not I, but everyone. All of your bondsmen worked together. Your system in Monteriggioni is very efficient. Far more than Firenze."

"The people here are not a pack of paid mercenaries bred for murder," Giovanni said, his tone brusque, and Leonardo struggled to keep his smile in place. 

"No doubt, and their strength was bolstered by Firenze's militia, who were trained to upkeep the security of a freehold city." He held Giovanni's eyes evenly as the trueblood's brow creased, and eventually, Giovanni was the one who jerked his gaze away, to Claudia. 

"Michelotto is gone?" 

She nodded. "I flew the scout route this evening and saw nothing. But we have not heard from Roma."

Giovanni grunted. "Ezio, you should not have allowed Federico to leave. His strength is needed here." 

"Begging your pardon, _father_ ," Ezio said mildly, "But Federico is of age enough to do what he pleases, and Roma was the whole point of this war, was it not? The Templars are looking for something in Roma?"

"The whole point of this war was to take Venezia," Giovanni growled, "And that has been done. As far as I am concerned we have done more than enough for Firenze." 

"The Borgia attacked-"

"And we have killed them in return and driven them from our lands." 

"But in Roma-" 

"Should whatever mysterious object in Roma be so dangerous as to threaten us all the way here in Monteriggioni," Giovanni cut over Claudia's protest sharply, causing her to shrink back, "Then of course we will address it in turn." 

"This is your choice to make, of course," Leonardo said smoothly, keeping his tone calm and reassuring, "It is your prerogative, and as you say, you have given much to this war. If you now wish to step aside and look to your lands, that is your right." 

Giovanni eyed him in open surprise. "Strange words to hear from the Duce's weaponsmith."

"The Duce wanted Venezia. Now, we have Venezia. He has not committed any forces to Roma, and is consolidating his hold on the freed lands. We have scouts in Roma trying to ascertain the Templars' objectives. Until we do, we cannot reasonably ask any more of the Auditore." 

"And that is what Lorenzo thinks?" Giovanni asked, suspicious.

" _Certo_. You should ask him yourself." 

"I hear that _you_ were the one who caused Federico to go to Roma," Giovanni retorted flatly. "Quiet, Ezio. You wouldn't have managed to instigate Federico to go just by yourself. I know you."

"Federico would have wished to go," Leonardo said evenly. "Had he not gone, I think he will have regretted it, and regret is an emotion particularly poisonous to your kind, is it not, with your long lives?" 

Giovanni grunted, though he seemed to concede the point. "I cannot go to Firenze, and leave Maria like this."

"Then you will fade, and waste away, and when she recovers, how will she feel?" Leonardo countered. 

Giovanni took a step forward, his hands curling, and Ezio said quickly, "Father-"

Blinking, Giovanni seemed to come back to himself, and he turned his eyes away, clearly embarrassed. " _Mi dispiace_. There is something to what you say, _signore_ Leonardo. Ezio, Claudia, take care of Monteriggioni in my absence."

"Of course," Ezio murmured, radiating relief. 

Giovanni clasped hands with him, hugged Claudia, then looked back over to Leonardo thoughtfully. Eventually, he said dryly, "I do not think that being turned will change you, _Maestro_. Your will is too strong for that."

"I have no interest in being turned, _signore_." Leonardo met Giovanni's stare unflinchingly, who eventually smiled thinly, nodded, and swept up into the sky as a dark eagle, chasing the growing dark towards Firenze. 

Beside him, both Ezio and Claudia let out deep sighs of relief, and Leonardo glanced at them sharply. "Yes?"

"I thought for a moment there..." Claudia trailed off, shaking her head. 

"Oh, he would not have hurt me," Leonardo said dismissively. "Your father has a lot of self-control."

"Or so we thought," Ezio muttered, and curled an arm pointedly around Leonardo's waist. "Did you really have to challenge him so?"

"Your father needs to drop a few assumptions about humans. Particularly freehold humans." Leonardo smiled, and flicked Ezio's nose teasingly. "He is not the only one."

"Oh? What assumptions do I have?"

"This," Leonardo tapped Ezio's arm, even as Claudia looked uneasily at the both of them and seemed to choose retreat, winging away as a kestrel back towards the scaffolding to replace Ezio on watch. "Ezio, I am not something to be possessed, like an object, or pampered and protected, like a pet." 

"I do not see you that way," Ezio protested quickly. "It is just..."

"Just?"

"Well," Ezio said helplessly, "You are human. Humans are frail, compared to us. I am concerned because of the... very great affection that I feel for you, not because I think you are a _pet_."

"Your silver tongue is getting a little better," Leonardo couldn't help but smile. "But not by much," he added, when Ezio brightened up at the praise. "Try not to make it so overt. It's uncomfortable for me."

"Oh." Ezio looked abashed. "My apologies." With open reluctance, he dropped his arm from around Leonardo's waist, only to blink when Leonardo laughed and stilled him with a touch, placing his arm back around his waist. " _Maestro_ , now I am confused."

"A lover's touch, like this, when we are alone? That is something that I can welcome."

"I think," Ezio grumbled, even as he bent at another touch for a kiss, "That you are being too complicated again."

II.

Rebecca wasn't surprised when the message came for Lucy to return to Firenze. "Malik was always going to pick you for his second in command, anyway. Since he's off to Roma, the Duce probably wants you back home just to handle his bit of the work."

Lucy was nibbling on her lower lip, a sign of unease that she usually - in Rebecca's experience - had enough poise to hide. "What if Roma's not going well? Rebecca, I can't replace Malik. I've nothing like his experience - or the respect he commands, and-"

"Nobody said anything about replacing Malik," Leonardo cut in, also at the gates to see Lucy off. "But the Duce now also has Venezia as a concern. No doubt he intends to send one of his senior hunters to Venezia as an aide, and your arm is now healed enough to be free from complications."

"Yeah, Lucy," Rebecca said encouragingly, "I mean, would you rather he sent Shaun? Venezia would declare war on us in _no_ time."

At that, Lucy had to smile, and despite being awkward with her arm, she hugged Rebecca, then Leonardo. "There's definitely that," she allowed wryly. "Stay safe, the two of you." 

" _I_ killed a trueblood bad guy, I've totally already pulled my weight," Rebecca flashed her a grin in return. "Leonardo and I are just going to lie back and soak up the sun and the Tuscan landscape." 

"Sure," Lucy noted dryly, though she couldn't help but grin in response, Rebecca observed. "I'll see you both again soon, I hope."

When Lucy was gone, Leonardo climbed up to the battlements with Rebecca, to lean on the sun-warmed stone. Bondsmen have started to trickle back to their towns, despite Leonardo's often-voiced misgivings, although the most vulnerable had remained housed in the fortified townships. Rebecca could see why: she had grown up in a small township herself. Crops needed tilling. Life had to go on, vampire wars or not.

"Isn't Ezio going to get real twitchy soon?" she teased Leonardo, when she caught him looking worriedly out over at the distant towns.

"He'll be fine," Leonardo said distractedly, though he stifled a yawn. Leonardo and Ezio had been adjusting fairly badly to each other's schedules. "I still need to oversee the workshops for a while and improve the cannon schema." When Rebecca's grin widened, he frowned at her. "Yes?"

"Good to see," she said mildly, "That you still have priorities."

"Of course I do."

"Oh? Your name used to be a byword for procrastination."

"Yes, well, the Duce's war seems to have escalated, and besides," Leonardo added reproachfully, "I never was wasting time, I merely chose to pursue other intellectual or creative venues now and then." 

"Sure," Rebecca drawled, though she sobered when Leonardo shot here a mildly affronted look. "Seriously though, are you ever going to go home? To Firenze? After all this?"

"Firenze is a beautiful city, but it is just a place," Leonardo began, then he sighed, and looked briefly up at the cloudless sky. "I would have liked to travel. Across to Venezia, over to the Empire, to the Orient, perhaps. Before, it would have been... suicidal. Now, with Ezio, after the Duce's war, perhaps it is... possible. But I cannot ask Ezio to leave his home if it means he will be exiled from it forever."

"Have you asked him about this?"

Leonardo made a face. "It is a difficult topic to approach coherently when he still believes that he should have been executed."

"Well," Rebecca shrugs, "Just do what you like. Maybe Ezio would like to see the world too, did you think of that? Maybe, from the way he's hanging on to your every word all the time, he just wants whatever will make you happy. Must be nice."

"It's frightening," Leonardo corrected, though he didn't look at her. "And humbling."

III.

Lorenzo had manage to resettle Firenze into its usual state of efficiency by the time Giovanni arrived, and Desmond had made a strategic decision to keep out of Giovanni's line of sight. Not that it mattered - Lorenzo had disappeared with Giovanni into Giovanni's cellar 'room', and they hadn't been out since. Desmond had stayed quietly in the room he had been allocated, near the stores, and had tried not to focus too much on his enhanced hearing. The walls were thick, but a vampire's hearing was better.

Now that he was better at getting rid of husks, the hunters had become somewhat more used to his presence. The hostility was lower, and even Hastings didn't snap and snarl at him as often as he used to.

Part of the reason seemed to be La Volpe's endless, odd curiosity about Desmond's time in the labs, about what he had seen, and most importantly, about what he knew about Vidic. Sometimes he would ask Desmond to tell the same story three times in a row, asking mostly similar questions each time around, and although it was annoying, Desmond bore up with it. With the Immortal curious about him, this seemed to further dampen any residual disgust that the hunters held about his presence. 

And then Lucy returned.

Desmond had hidden away quickly when her arrival was announced late in the afternoon, suddenly nervous. She had been the reason he had come to Firenze, after all, distant as that seemed now that so much had occurred. She was the-

He flinched at knock on his door. "Hey," Hastings said, from outside it. "Awake?"

"I am now." 

"La Volpe wants to see you." 

" _Now_?" It was still the afternoon.

"Now." 

'Now' seemed to be in another, larger cellar that Desmond didn't really recognise: he hadn't exactly been given freedom of movement in the hunter headquarters. Lorenzo was already there, sitting at a table speaking to La Volpe in quiet tones, while Giovanni stood behind him, leaning against the wall. His gaze flicked up when Desmond approached, but he didn't otherwise move; there was a lazy, catlike satisfaction about him that seemed at odds with the angry desperation of a day ago.

"Ah, Desmond. Sit down." Lorenzo gestured at one of the chairs at the table, even as Hastings ducked out of the room. 

"Sir." Woodenly, Desmond sat, remaining awkwardly at equal distance between La Volpe and Lorenzo.

They went back to their conversation without acknowledging him further, and Desmond tried not to squirm, tried to keep his eyes fixed on the table. When the door next opened, he tried not to react - at least, up until he heard a soft, feminine intake of breath.

"Lucy!" 

Lucy's surprise smoothed quickly into neutrality as she nodded to Lorenzo. " _Altezza_."

"Lucy, are you familiar with this man?"

"The _vampire_ was Desmond Miles, yes." Lucy's tone was clipped and flat. Desmond tried not to wilt. He had imagined what their meeting would be like, hundreds of times, and he had known that something like this would have been more probable than most - but it still hurt. 

Granted, he hadn't exactly been the best of friends with Lucy even when he had been human, and a test subject on the other side of a glass cage, but he had thought - had thought-

"Did you see Vidic turn him?" La Volpe asked. 

"Not Desmond, but I have seen Vidic turn others."

"He bears no bite wounds." La Volpe said mildly. 

Lucy shot Desmond a sharper, harder stare. "His eyes are amber and-"

"He is a made vampire in every form, yes. Seemingly so. But he cannot shapeshift, and he has a... rather unusual ability to sense vampires he has met before. It was only after studying this ability that I was able to craft the amulets that Kadar, Federico and Altaïr bear, to hide them from others of Desmond's kind. Crafted vampires."

Lucy looked openly dismayed. "There are other ways of making vampires? Desmond, do you remember being turned?"

"Nope," Desmond frowned. "It happened when I was asleep. One moment I was sleeping, the next, I wasn't human any longer."

"And you didn't think it was _strange_ that you had no wound?"

"How was I to know?" Desmond demanded evenly. "I've never seen a made vampire naked before. Vampires heal quick. I thought that the scar was gone."

"Turning scars don't fade. Not normally." Lucy looked sharply to La Volpe. "So this thing that was done to Desmond, can it be reversed? If it is not a normal turning? Can he become human again?"

La Volpe was already shaking his head, and as Desmond watched to his dismay, Lucy's sudden concern faded all the way back to neutrality. "Not that I can see. He has been turned. Lucy, tell me everything of your experience in Vidic's laboratories." 

The telling took time, and after a couple of hours a few hunters popped by with refreshments for the humans and a dubious look at Desmond and Giovanni. Eventually, Lucy petered to a halt, and took a drink of water as La Volpe seemed to think what she had said over, while Lorenzo waited impatiently, clearly having already heard her story before. Giovanni was impassive.

"Vidic is not an ordinary vampire... if he is even a trueblood at all," La Volpe said finally. "I wonder." 

"What is this about?" Lorenzo growled. "I think we've been humouring you long enough, magus."

"Patience, pup," La Volpe retorted, ignoring the way Giovanni's eyes narrowed at him. "I think something impossible has happened. Something..." he trailed off, then added, "I need a drawing of this Vidic. Are either of you competent? Lucy? Desmond?"

"I could try-" Desmond began. 

"La _Volpe_ ," Lorenzo interrupted, and there was steel in his voice now, even as La Volpe snorted.

"Don't think that you can threaten me, Duce, even here, in the seat of your power: I will not take such things kindly." the old Immortal said quietly, then he smiled thinly and abruptly even as Lorenzo stiffened and Giovanni put a hand on the back of the Duce's chair. "But since we are friends of convenience for now, I will tell you to be patient. Someone get this boy a pen and a sheet of paper."


	30. Chapter 30

I.

"I don't have much time," Malik said without preamble, when he stepped into the darkened, partially collapsed old house. A soft, hooting noise - the old Brotherhood signal - had called his attention to it when he had been carrying a crate past, and he knew that he only had a short space of time before his absence would be noticed by the foreman.

Altaïr nodded, and jerked his thumb to the side, at Federico, who smiled lazily at Malik. "I hear that you wished to speak to me?" When Malik glanced at Altaïr, surprised, Federico added dryly, "Yes, your Altaïr is oddly resourceful."

"He's not 'my' anything," Malik growled. "And you should have gone by Firenze first, rather than venture here alone."

"And _you_ should not have sent Kadar here _alone_ ," Federico countered, an edge creeping into his tone.

"He is Brotherhood trained and-"

"And he was not as good as Altaïr in life, no?" Federico interrupted. "Nor in death. If Altaïr was captured, what made you think that Kadar would escape the same fate?"

Malik's fist clenched, but it was Altaïr who let out a soft growl - one that he hastily swallowed when Federico swung his gaze over to him. The made vampire looked as surprised as Malik felt, then his expression turned neutral. "Arguing is pointless," Altaïr said brusquely, clearly deciding to ignore what he had just involuntarily done. "We need to find Kadar and figure out what it is that the Templars have located in Roma." 

"I agree. We should split our forces." 

"Federico-" Malik began.

"When I rescue Kadar I will give you enough of a distraction perhaps for you to sneak into the Vatican City. Whatever it is, it is in there. It is the most fortified place in Roma and I have heard enough rumours to place Rodrigo there." 

"Malik and I will not stand any chance against Rodrigo," Altaïr pointed out irritably. "Better that we create the distraction and you go into the Vatican City."

"Something's keeping me out of it," Federico said reasonably. "Don't you think that I've tried to get in? Whatever it is, it's probably barring truebloods. I can't even get close. It feels like a wall that I cannot see." 

Malik scowled. "And you think that Altaïr and I can get through, if you cannot?" 

"Humans can pass it. I've seen the slaves. Made vampires, too, in their patrols." 

"Or it might just alert the enemy to us." Malik muttered. "Still, I see your point. Very well."

"Malik-" Altaïr objected.

"I haven't come to Roma unprepared, Altaïr." Malik growled. "Federico, do you know where Kadar is yet?"

"No."

"I'll try to find out. We're close. Should I come by here at night?"

"No, it will not be safe." Federico grinned in the dark. "Altaïr and I will find you instead. Safe hunting."

It was not a reassuring sentiment coming from a trueblood, but Malik nodded, and stepped out of the ruined house. 

It took three days for him and the Duce's spies to work their way comprehensively around Roma. Altaïr he fed once more, even if Altaïr was openly reluctant. Federico declined politely, rather to Malik's secret relief. It was obvious that truebloods needed to drink more, and he wasn't sure how much he - or the other spies - could give. 

"Kadar isn't anywhere in Roma or the outskirts," Malik said, once they were all comfortably gathered in the old service chamber of a drainage shaft. The room was cold and stank of mould and stale air, but Malik had seen worse over the last few days, enough to want to finish the mission and get out of Roma. The Borgia were no kinder with their slaves than they were with their enemies, and the blood pens were often fuelled by the dying, hastened to their deaths.

"So he is in the Vatican City?" Federico suggested.

"Or dead," Altaïr grunted, and met Federico's sharp glance evenly. "We have to consider all possibilities."

"He isn't dead." Malik tipped his chin at one of the Duce's spies. "Adam overheard talk of another freed vampire being of interest to Vidic." The very thought of it all disgusted him, but he kept his tone even. If it wasn't enough that Kadar's shell... that _Kadar_ had suffered under Robert for so long, now-

He had failed Kadar again after all. The thought had been difficult to face before, but now, after days sunk in deep cover within Roma, Malik knew it to be true. If Altaïr had run into difficulties, Malik should never have sent a rookie to take his place, however convenient, however much he didn't want to face up to Kadar's current existence. 

"That's... something," Federico said delicately, and the soothing tone in the trueblood's words surprised Malik. Federico had been openly antagonistic before, but over the days, he had mellowed significantly. At Malik's stare, Federico added quietly, "No one should suffer under Templar rule. I understand this now the way I never have."

Ah. "So our target is the Vatican City," Malik agreed. "Federico cannot enter it, however." 

"Doctor Vidic is in the outskirts still, around the Coliseum. I can go after him. If I can kill him, no doubt that will give you the distraction you need."

"He will sense you and pin you before you can do anything," Altaïr disagreed. 

"I know how to be careful."

"Federico, we think that Vidic is a turned Magus-" Malik began.

"I know that too," Federico said mildly, and grinned when they stared at him. "It was an obvious conjecture. I haven't spent my time in Roma sitting back in abandoned houses and waiting for reports, Malik."

"So... how do you intend to attack Vidic?" Altaïr demanded irritably. "If you are so confident?"

"I am not confident. The magi are difficult opponents, and I imagine that this Vidic is even more so." Federico shrugged. "But I have battled truebloods before, and I have fought the magi, so I think perhaps that I am most suited of all of us to counter Vidic." 

"All right," Malik said, if openly dubious. "Then Vidic is your problem. Altaïr, there is a way into the Vatican City along the walls. A steep and treacherous climb, but we hunters can make it in that way. You can follow us, or try to fly in."

"The roofs and battlements are dotted with archers watching for birds," Altaïr pointed out. "I will go with you." 

"That's settled then." Federico grinned, and stretched out a hand - Malik hesitated for a moment before he shook it. "Safety and peace, Malik."

"Swift hunting," Malik echoed, trying not to let his surprise show, that Federico had known of one of the Brotherhood's oldest rituals, then he added, "God's blessing," ignoring the murmurs from the Duce's men.

"We'll need it before this week is through." Federico said soberly, as he shook Altaïr's hand in turn, then the rest.

II.

Finding Vidic was the easy part.

Killing him turned out to be far more difficult than Federico thought. 

He had known that he wouldn't have been able to sneak up on Vidic - that was one part of magus magic that the truebloods had never been able to crack - but to keep himself from being bound, that he knew how. Beads of silver were bound like bracelets onto his wrists and feet, as uncomfortable as it felt: silver weakened magic compulsion, and a trueblood's will was usually good enough to do the rest. 

Ezio had been too young to participate in the wars the trueblood _camorra_ had waged against the magi, centuries ago, but Federico had been just old enough, and he had the experience. With a normal magi, he would have been able to break just enough of the man's spellwork to get enough shadow through to end him.

With Vidic, this was proving harder. And the giant shadow abomination that Vidic had set on him wasn't helping, either: Federico had been dodging them both for _hours_ , and he was acutely aware that the sun was coming. 

Federico had let himself get chased to the outskirts of Roma, if slowly enough that Vidic had followed. He knew he had a problem here. Staying out of reach of the giant abomination was proving easy enough, even if it hurt to shapeshift while wearing so much silver. But to kill it, and still be fit enough to attack Vidic afterwards- 

Vidic sensed his advantage. He raised his hands from where he was braced on the grass, sketching another symbol, and Federico hastily took himself out of range with a quick snap of his wings. He knew he was being driven, that Vidic had obviously decided not to bother trying to snare him, but for now, he was at a deadlock. 

Still, if he just avoided the-

Then Vidic shouted something, and the pooling shadow solidified, though not into the lumpy, misshapen clay-like form that Federico remembered: this one was more man-like, taller, swifter - it snatched him out of the air, impossibly quickly, and began to _squeeze_. 

Hissing, Federico forced himself into the change. It felt like he was pushing against treacle, but the silver helped tip the edge between himself and the foul magic in the abomination's fist - he was a rat, darting up nimbly out of the monster's fist, then in his man-shaped form, balancing precariously against the gigantic wrist. 

The monster _roared_ deafeningly, its other palm coming up sharply to slap down over him, but Federico was already wincing as he gathered up the silver-beaded thong on his wrist into his hand, anchoring himself with shadow as he swung down the sheer, unnaturally taut flesh to slam his hand against the disc. 

It had been an action born out of pure desperation and opportunity, and Federico regretted it instantly as the shockwave blasted him backwards and into the sky. Numb, he still managed to pull his fall into a roll the way he had once learned from a bondsman, though it still jarred his frame and knocked him rolling over the grass. 

Behind him, there was a shriek - _Vidic_ \- yes, the spell breaking, a backlash. This was his best chance to attack. Federico struggled to his elbows, snarling under his breath, forcing himself into his wolf form, then stumbling and nearly falling straight onto his nose when he tried to take a wobbly step. Growling, he forced himself to his feet again, only to yelp and fall over when a huge black destrier thundered past.

It was - to Federico's utter surprise - Duke Lorenzo, and the way the destrier moved, with its speed and surefooted grace, indicated that it had to be none other than Giovanni. The destrier leaped and dodged around the collapsing mound of bodies that was the abomination, closing in on Vidic, and even as Vidic snarled, sketching a symbol in the air, his expression froze suddenly, in comical surprise-

And then the Duke was upon him, a silver blade lashing out as he passed, taking Vidic's head off his shoulders. The destrier spun about as Vidic staggered for a moment, then it shrieked its triumph as Vidic collapsed into dust. 

With a sigh, Federico sank down, even as the destrier drew to a halt beside him, Lorenzo dismounting quickly. There was a blur, then Giovanni was checking Federico over with quick, sure hands, his expression worried at first, then relieved. "He's just shaken from the backlash," Giovanni told Lorenzo, then, "Federico, can you shift?"

It was difficult to concentrate, but he managed it somehow, wincing and groaning, allowing his father to help him into an upright position sitting against a tree. Giovanni cut the silver beads off him, tossing them aside, even as Federico looked up to see Lorenzo striding towards what looked like a fair-sized army of _humans_. 

"What... when did...?" Federico murmured.

"A strategic decision," Giovanni said wryly. "La Volpe jumped us here after he decided that this Vidic was a threat great enough to muster armies over. Lorenzo agreed - eventually. I'm glad to see that we managed to arrive right in the nick of time." 

"Felt the magic in use," La Volpe grunted, approaching them on a skittish mare, even as Lorenzo whistled over a white stallion from the army and got onto its back, wheeling it around. "Thought I might lend a hand, rather than dropping us out over the plains."

"Well, I'm glad that you did," Federico said dizzily, then he grinned. "You old fox." La Volpe and the trueblood _camorra_ were traditionally enemies: going 'foxhunting' was once the term used by truebloods whenever they felt like chasing more dangerous prey. 

La Volpe scowled at him, clearly aware of the analogy, however playful, then glanced back up at Roma. "Lorenzo doesn't want to get bogged down with city fighting so-"

"I can speak for myself," Lorenzo interrupted imperiously. "Where is Malik?"

Quickly, Federico explained Malik's plan, and at the end of it, Lorenzo was frowning, irritable. "Blast. We can't lend aid to them in time. Retaking the city will be difficult, and dawn is almost here." 

"We can still harry the Barbarigo army, like the original plan," La Volpe pointed out. 

"Or we could take over the external parts of Roma and free the slaves from their pens," Federico countered, his expression pinched. When Giovanni arched an eyebrow, Federico added tightly, "Father, these Templars are worse monsters than the ones they have crafted. Every day, humans die like animals in their yoke."

"Human life would of course take precedence if there's an immediate threat," Lorenzo decided, though he also seemed surprised. "Thank you, Federico." 

"Besides, if we can make a big distraction out here," Federico nodded at the distant Coliseum, "Maybe Malik will have a better time of it in the Vatican City."

III.

Malik waited quietly, balanced on a roof beam, as below a flurry of panicked guards milled about before hurrying out of the wide corridor. It seemed that Roma was under attack, and reinforcements were being called outside the Vatican City to support the military outside. Whatever Federico was doing by way of a distraction, it had to be going wildly well.

The way into the great Chapel had been difficult, and they had lost or been separated from the rest of the Duce's men. Altaïr was scouting ahead, and as Malik made his way quietly over the beams, he hoped that they weren't too late. There had been a buzz of anticipation around the Vatican City: whatever the Templars had found, there had been some sort of development. 

He had made it quietly into the next corridor by the time Altaïr returned, stealing up onto the beams with silent feet. Sourly, Malik missed his arm - not for the first time that day. Climbing with only one arm was a slow and tedious process, and he was mulishly jealous of how easy and limber Altaïr looked, swinging up to perch beside him. 

Unfortunately, the slave disguise didn't work this deep into the Chapel, where only trusted humans were allowed if at all. Malik had to be patient. "Trouble?" he murmured.

Altaïr's grin was wolfish under his hood, and so familiar all at once that Malik blinked rapidly to see it. "Seems like your Duce attacked Roma."

"The _Duce_?" Malik repeated, startled. It was highly unlike Lorenzo to commit his forces so, and... "Brought here by La Volpe?"

"Probably. And Vidic is dead."

"That's excellent news," Malik whispered, his resolve strengthening. Federico had done his part - now it was left to Malik and Altaïr. 

Their movement was easier now that the heavy guard was reduced to a skeletal core: avoiding patrols was far easier. Making good time, they descended a level, then another, until they came across a strange complex, a huge cavern that looked not in the least natural - all highly symmetrical, black stone pillars and thick beams, thicker than trees, shot through with gleaming blue lines that seemed impossibly lighted from within. No sane mine had forged this room - there were no stairways, no ramps: only by transversing the beams could they get across the vast chasms beneath.

Malik was beginning to struggle, despite Altaïr's attempts to help. Although he kept himself fit, he hadn't ever had to climb so much in his life, and he was a little out of breath by the time they took a short rest on a small platform. His single arm ached, and his feet, bare due to having discarded the hindering sandals of the slave disguise, were starting to blister and bleed. Altaïr stared down at them unhappily. 

"I could give you my boots," he murmured.

"Your feet are smaller than mine," Malik retorted absently, and when Altaïr blinked, he added irritably, "Of course I remember. I put your boots on once out of accident, when we- when that time-" He hesitated, when Altaïr said nothing. They had been young, and stupid enough to agree to dares; Altaïr had eventually lost his, and had to let Malik fuck him on the roof of the library. They had almost been caught by one of the Bureau leaders, and when dressing hurriedly, Malik had taken the wrong boots. 

A grinding noise interrupted whatever Altaïr might have thought to say next, and to Malik's shock, the platform they were on started to _move_ , becoming disconnected from the pillar that he thought it was affixed to and _floating across the room_. In panic, he nearly tried to jump for the nearest platform, but Altaïr gripped his hand tightly and drew him flat against the sheer surface. 

About to snap at him, Malik froze instead as he heard a footstep, below. Chancing a look, he saw a narrow, thin platform unravel about twenty feet below, in the deep chasm, and Rodrigo stalked out over it, heading briskly towards the lower central circular platform. Behind him, slaves were tugging along a hunched figure, chained in silver at neck and wrists, and- and that was _Kadar_ , Malik realized, incredulous, limping and stumbling as though broken, defeat in every line of his body. That was _Kadar_.

He nearly cried out, but Altaïr pinned him to the wall, clamping a hand over his mouth, holding him tightly still until Malik finally sucked in a slow, shuddering breath and calmed down. Another peek told him that Rodrigo had reached the central platform, and was standing before what looked like a vaguely rectangular depression near the opposite end, in the dark stone, ringed by blue lines. 

Malik started to climb, ignoring Altaïr's attempts to drag him back down, and eventually, Altaïr huffed and pulled himself up, leaping noiselessly out into the air, turning into a hawk. Before Malik could hiss at him to stop, Altaïr was winging down towards Rodrigo, twisting at the last minute into his human-like form, hidden blade bared.

Rodrigo had already stepped out of place, laughing harshly as shadows struck at Altaïr as he rolled out of his dive. Altaïr danced away, leaping up for a blue-lined platform, and for a moment Malik was going to shout at Altaïr not to be stupid, to stay on wider ground against a trueblood, then he realized that the shadows weren't crossing the blue lines. 

Encouraged, he scrambled to get closer, leaping from the moving platform to another, lower beam, trying to at least get to Kadar, concentrating on his own footing. Rodrigo seemed to ignore him, snarling and concentrating on trying to get at Altaïr as Altaïr struck at him and retreated, again and again, the trueblood's movements looking futile and slow beside Altaïr's quicksilver. 

The slaves holding Kadar's shackles fled once Malik dropped down onto the bridge, and grimacing, Malik had to resort to lockpicks on the shackles. His brother stood before him, blinking, his eyes dazed, and it was a long moment before Kadar murmured, confused, "Malik?"

His heart ached to hear that, more than he had thought possible, but Malik merely nodded tightly, getting the wrist shackles off, then the one at Kadar's neck. Kadar shuddered, as the silver was tossed away onto the main platform, his hands going up to his unbound neck, then his eyes narrowed sharply and he lunged, faster than Malik could react. 

Knocked down and to the side, Malik nearly kicked out in response, only to yelp as Kadar was suddenly a wolf, teeth sunk carefully into the rags of Malik's disguise, dragging him the rest of the way across a set of blue lines. Shadows burst from the ground where they had been, and Malik struggled up onto his own feet, scrambling for the pouch he had hidden under his clothes. 

Leonardo's silver liquid spheres smashed on the ground, spreading their contents quickly over the black stone. Malik grinned viciously as Rodrigo snarled, then he flinched as Rodrigo was abruptly a huge, great bear, that lunged across the ground, its solid form not impeded by the blue light, and with one swipe of its great, unnaturally fast paw, bowled him across the ground. 

"Malik!" Kadar cried, even as Malik managed desperately to arrest his fall, clawing at the stone walkway, managing to pull himself up even as the bear darted towards him again with a roar. 

Then it flinched, snarling and turning, as smoke started to rise from its flanks - Kadar had spheres from the spilled pouch in his hands, and had thrown one. Alchemist's fire crawled up the huge bear's flanks, and it _screamed_. 

The next sphere missed, and the next, and then Kadar was darting away as a swift, supple fox, leaping at the edge of the platform to become a swift, darting up into the room. The bear seemed to collect itself for a jump, only to twist around with a roar of outrage as a black elk thundered into it, head down, antlers stabbing into the bear's flank and shoving it back several steps. 

Retreating, shaking its head, the bear hissed and snapped as the swift darted down, becoming a falcon, tearing at the bear's back, and impossibly, shifting all the time, Altaïr and Kadar seemed to be driving the bear back, harrying it in tandem, they were winning-

And then Malik saw the trap. 

Once back across the bulk of the blue lines, shadows erupted from the ground, catching first Kadar by a clawed foot, then Altaïr by the neck of his wolf form. Ignoring Kadar, Rodrigo pinned Altaïr to the depression in the platform, growling, and then it was Altaïr's turn to cry out as shadows stabbed into Altaïr's palms and through his heart. 

"Altaïr!" Malik gasped, even as Rodrigo smiled cruelly, man-shaped again, drawing a silver dagger from his sleeve. Malik's attempts to reach him drew short almost instantly - shadows pinned him to the ground the moment he was close enough to jump. Methodically, as Malik and Kadar watched in horror, Rodrigo stepped over to the pinned, writhing Altaïr and sank the silver dagger through his chest.

The blue lines on the platform _pulsed_ , blindingly bright, and there was a cry of surprise from Rodrigo and a yelp of pain from Kadar. Gritting his teeth, Malik took advantage of the loosening shadows to wriggle free, forcing himself to his feet, ignoring his disorientation and pain, lunging the rest of the way blindly and drawing his silver blade. He felt the blade catch briefly against Rodrigo's heavy golden chain over his rich clothes, felt the trueblood stiffen in shock, then let out a gurgle as Malik drew back and thrust his silver blade through Rodrigo's head. 

Rodrigo didn't turn to dust. 

Startled, blinking away the spots in his eyes, Malik stumbled back, pulling his blade free, ready to try again - then he could only gape, utterly shocked, watching as Rodrigo staggered to the side, hands clutching at his neck, _bleeding_ great gouts of sticky red blood, like a _human_. 

Behind him, he heard Kadar take in a high, shocked breath, then another, then his brother let out a brittle, hysterical burp of laughter. "Malik! Oh Heaven, Malik-"

As Rodrigo collapsed into a still heap, Malik backed away hurriedly, turning to look over at Altaïr - who was sitting up, blinking and astonished. The silver blade that had been sunk into him was gone, and Altaïr stared at his hands, then one palm flew up, as if to check for a pulse at his neck. His eyes widened sharply, even as Malik whirled to look at Kadar, who was doing the same thing. 

"Malik, Malik, I'm _alive_ again!" Kadar was laughing, crying, as Malik pulled him sharply into a tight embrace. His brother was _warm_ , thank God, _warm_ and Malik could feel the thud of his pulse against him. He couldn't think, couldn't begin to imagine- "It's a miracle! The Templars found a miracle!"


	31. Chapter 31

.la volpe

"Precursor magic," La Volpe explained, when Lorenzo had finished ambling around the circular chamber, trailed by Malik and the newly human Altaïr and Kadar. The depression in the platform was still bloodstained, but other than that, no evidence remained of the battle that had taken place upon it.

"Pray explain," Lorenzo said, his voice tight with excitement. 

"You're aware of the Rift War?"

Lorenzo tipped up his chin, his eyes narrowing, as though trying to decide whether La Volpe was making a joke at his expense. "The religious mummery spread about why humans were kicked out of Eden?"

"All 'mummery' tends to have a little fact behind it all." La Volpe shrugged. "Are humans the children of Eve, while truebloods the children of Lilith the Outsider? Perhaps. Whichever it is, the Creator-Race sought always to address the imbalance. I've heard of artifacts like this all my existence - though this is the first time I've seen one intact and functional."

"I see." Lorenzo narrowed his eyes for a long moment, calculating possibilities. "It seems that we must, after all, occupy Roma."

"The Barbarigo forces have fled and the Borgia militia has surrendered." Malik supplied briskly. "But the infrastructure of Roma has been mostly destroyed, and come the warmer days, there will be disease and worse from the mass graves."

Lorenzo shuddered. "But this building-"

"Leave it," La Volpe shrugged.

"What?"

"If it could be easily destroyed, the Templars would have done it by now."

"They can't have known what it did," Lorenzo pointed out doubtfully, "Or Rodrigo wouldn't have tried to use it." 

"True, there are Precursor weapons around the world, along with these," La Volpe gestured at the platform. "And they are often very similar in appearance. I have looked at Vidic's notes, however, and it seems that the Templars did originally try to destroy the platform. They had their suspicions about it, but Vidic did not seem to contemplate the possibility that the conversion would affect even a trueblood."

"So should we not at least preserve it for those turned against their will?" Lorenzo demanded.

"No. Those who are turned against their will can find their way here." La Volpe said quietly. "Precursor artifacts are not to be trifled with, Duce. Best that we leave this one alone."

"Was this your interest in Roma?" Malik spoke up, frowning slightly. "I recall you saying something of the sort before."

"Did I know that an artifact was in Roma? Yes. I thought that was most likely, given Templar efforts. Did I know which particular artifact? No." La Volpe stared at the bloodstained depression in the platform for a long moment more before straightening up. "Still, a most satisfactory conclusion to this exercise. It has been quite a pleasure working with you and yours, Duce."

"And it has been an honour working with you, Immortal," Lorenzo replied, just as formally. "Though you've yet to explain to me who Vidic was to your Order."

"Some secrets the Magi will prefer to keep," La Volpe said wryly. "But you have righted an old wrong, and for that, you have our thanks."

.federico

Kadar ventured out with him, away from the armies, as the Duce's forces prepared to decamp and leave Roma. Federico was planning on flying straight back to Monteriggioni to keep an eye on his younger siblings, even as Giovanni would escort the Duce back to Firenze.

"I can feel your brother staring at us across the distance," Federico said playfully, and Kadar blushed, darting a quick look over his shoulder to the distant, one-armed man seated on a horse. 

"He's picked up all of his bad old habits again now that I've... reverted." Kadar said delicately, though he didn't seem regretful, then he smiled lightly, tentatively. "I'm still really grateful for everything that you've done for me, Federico."

"Think nothing of it, _uccellino_." Federico eyed him closely. "I'm glad that you're happy."

"Really?" Kadar burst out, then he blushed again and mumbled, "I thought that you were going to be mad." 

"Kadar, you were turned against your will, and for most of your life as a vampire you were ill-used," Federico pointed out patiently. "It was not something that you chose, and I'm glad that you've had the chance to... go back to what you were. Just like Altaïr." 

"I'll miss flying," Kadar murmured, then looked again hastily over his shoulder as if to check whether his brother was listening. Federico stifled a laugh, utterly charmed, and was still amused when Kadar turned back to look at him. "I'm so happy that you're not angry," he added, in the same hesitant tone. "You've done a lot for me and... and... I've said that before already, haven't I, and-"

Grinning, Federico leaned over to give Kadar a quick, brushing peck on the mouth, then he laughed when Kadar quickly flung his arms around Federico's neck to deepen the kiss. It was sweeter now than it was before, somehow, Kadar's lips deliciously warm now against his mouth, and the hammering beat of Kadar's heart was intoxicating to pick up over the rush of warm blood under his skin. Exquisite. 

"Come to Monteriggioni whenever you like," Federico invited, brushing a quick little kiss over Kadar's brow. "And... perhaps not now, nor soon, but in time, if you ever decide that you would like to fly again... let me know." 

Kadar's wide-eyed look was thankfully not wary, and he didn't taste of fear when he gave Federico a shy, open-mouthed kiss. "I'll think about it," he whispered. "But don't tell my brother."

"Never," Federico promised, and held Kadar close until they were hailed.

.rebecca

"... so we'll be going up to Venezia to pick up Yusuf and Suleiman, or at least to check on them," Leonardo was industriously packing chests onto the horse-drawn cart. "And if they're interested, we'll head westwards together to explore the Continent. We'll do a bit of a round trip, head back, then go eastward to see the Orient."

Rebecca was perched on the top of the wagon, looking back over the bulk of the fort. Somewhere within, Ezio was saying his goodbyes to his family, paying his last respects to his uncle's grave. "At least Maria woke up."

"Hm? Oh yes, of course," Leonardo said distractedly. "We wouldn't have left otherwise. I was fairly sure that I was close to a breakthrough on her case. I think she woke up by herself, though, rather than through any aid of mine. She just needed time to heal."

"Still," Rebecca teased, "See, I told you Ezio would do what you wanted."

Leonardo hesitated. "Actually, I was talking to Maria about it - very offhandedly, of course, and she was surprisingly encouraging, and mentioned it to Ezio herself. I didn't ask directly. I really didn't want him to go along with this whim of mine and leave his family behind." 

"War's over, we're on holiday, and you're the most beautiful man in Italia," Rebecca drawled. "Sure he wants to keep you in sight."

To her glee, Leonardo actually blushed a little, though he went back to piling supplies on the cart. "It won't all be a holiday. I'll be carrying some diplomatic missives to the other freehold territories. Lorenzo has plans." 

"He always has plans," Rebecca shrugged. 

"What about you, Rebecca?" Leonardo asked, as he checked the horses' tack. Bred in the Auditore stables, both carthorses were beautiful, spirited animals, unafraid of their trueblood masters, their plate-sized hooves stamping on the grass as they whickered at the attention. 

"Seems with you gone, Lorenzo needs an ambassador to the Auditore, and they don't mind me so much, so that's my gig for now." She grinned when Leonardo arched an eyebrow at her. "Keeping the peace and friendship and fun and all that."

"Oh dear," Leonardo murmured.

"What?"

"Well, ah, I'm sure that you'll do fine, my dear," Leonardo said hastily, "Only, perhaps, there's still time for me to give you a better understanding of some of the intricacies of Monteriggioni's social structure and-"

"Don't bother, I'll be _fine_ ," Rebecca cut in breezily. "I mean, what can go wrong?"

" _Now_ I'm worried." Leonardo protested, and was in the middle of determinedly giving Rebecca some sort of crash course on Tuscan diplomacy when Ezio swooped down out of the air, turned into his man-shaped form, and kissed Leonardo firmly on the mouth. 

"Thanks," Rebecca said dryly, "He was talking my ears off."

"But he has the most beautiful voice," Ezio said adoringly, and scowled when Rebecca made an archly choking noise.

"Gods, the two of you, just go, you're worse than newlyweds-"

" _I'm_ utterly rational," Leonardo corrected, though he smiled warmly at Ezio as Ezio helped him up onto the cart - an utterly unnecessary action for someone of Leonardo's strength and height. "Seriously, Rebecca." 

"I'm going to be liaison between here and Firenze. I'll do fine, won't I?" Rebecca asked Ezio.

Ezio hadn't even taken his eyes off Leonardo. "Mm? Yes, of course."

"See?" Rebecca grinned at Leonardo, who rolled his eyes at her.

"Good luck," he said reluctantly.

"Have fun and stop worrying," Rebecca shot back, and waved as Ezio handled the reins, the horses picking up into a quick trot.

.desmond

Lucy and Hastings were looking down over him when Desmond shakily pulled himself upright from the depression in the platform. Before he could check his pulse, Lucy had her fingers pressed to his neck, and she smiled, slow and bright, then hugged him quickly.

"Welcome back," Hastings said mildly, and folded his arms. "Hopefully you're less pathetic as a human as you were when you were a vampire." 

"Fuck you," Desmond shot back, and Hastings actually smirked as Lucy helped Desmond up. 

"Well, what now?" Hastings continued, arching an eyebrow. "Seeing as you've been of just about no help all this time." 

"I used to be a bartender," Desmond said irritably, "Not some secret Syrian cadre vampire hunter."

"We could use a bartender in Headquarters," Lucy noted, though she smiled wryly as she said this. "Ignore him, Desmond. We're just glad it worked. Welcome back."

.suleiman

News of what Malik had found in Roma reached Venezia quickly. While the freehold humans rejoiced, Suleiman could see that Yusuf was unnerved, and he excused himself from the celebrations when he noticed after a while that Yusuf was missing.

He found his oldest friend and companion at the docks, watching the few night-time workers amble about good-naturedly, carrying crates are calling out playful jibes at each other, utterly unlike the Barbarigo-controlled reign of terror that had been in place only a short while ago. In places, there were still cages, partly shattered, filthy and stained with waste and worse. 

Yusuf was beside their ship, sitting on a crate at the dock, watching the water, and he grinned when Suleiman stepped up to lean beside him. "Had enough of the party?" he asked, in their native tongue.

"You left." 

"Oh." Yusuf blinked at him. "I would have said something to you if I knew that you would worry."

"The device is not such a bad thing," Suleiman told Yusuf softly. "For the people turned against their will, it is a blessing."

"But to the rest of us, it is a weapon," Yusuf replied quietly. "I think we should leave Italia." 

"Leonardo is coming by."

"Yes, I suppose," Yusuf said uncomfortably. Yusuf hadn't been exactly pleased when Suleiman had suggested travelling with Lorenzo's renowned weaponsmith and one of the _meçkey_ : Lorenzo's note had come in the morning, on a messenger bird.

"It's up to you, Yusuf," Suleiman said soothingly. "I would not mind seeing more of the world, and Leonardo's mind is renowned for being most singular. They would be excellent travelling companions."

"Perhaps," Yusuf grunted, glowering at the waters. "Or perhaps we should stock up on provisions and head south. Cross the sea again." 

"If you like," Suleiman said gently, and Yusuf let out a frustrated sound. 

"I do not know. I feel like running, but we cannot run. This thing that they have found, I think it will change the world." Yusuf's hands clenched in his lap. "And I want us to be away from here as it happens. I had even thought about possibly returning to the Empire, to tell the Sultan about-"

"No," Suleiman cut in. "My apologies, Yusuf, but we must not. You know what will happen if we do."

Yusuf nodded slowly, uncomfortably. The Ottoman Empire had little tolerance for magic or artifacts that threatened the status quo: likely, they would invade Italia, and Duke Lorenzo's hold on his lands was still shaky. "I know. But they will find out eventually. You know they will."

"When that comes," Suleiman said slowly, testing the waters, "I think we should offer our allegiance to the Duce again."

"Against our own people?"

"Against injustice." 

Yusuf stared at him for a long moment, then he nodded tightly, and Suleiman smiled at him in relief. "Yes. You are right. So be it."

.ezio

"The captains to the New World speak of wolf-men, not vampires," Leonardo was still chattering excitedly as they settled down in the shelter of the barn for the night. Yusuf and Suleiman had opted to remain in the Ottoman Embassy in London, rather to Ezio's surprise, but he supposed that he little understood either of them or their reasons for following them across the Continent.

"Probably ignorance," Ezio scoffed, tugging Leonardo down onto the hay beside him. Paying off the farmer had required all of Leonardo's tact, grace, and a great deal of coin, and Ezio was frustrated and irritable by the end of it all. 

"Perhaps. It was an interesting distinction," Leonardo continued, and would probably have expounded on his point all night had Ezio not rolled him onto his back to kiss him roughly. Leonardo tensed for a moment, then muffled a laugh and licked into Ezio's mouth, teasingly at first, then hungrily, until they were groaning and rubbing against each other in the dark. "You're very loud," Leonardo murmured against his lips, and Ezio could see the gleam of Leonardo's amused grin even in the dim light of the moon.

"So are you."

"Poor Yusuf and Suleiman," Leonardo mused. 

"What about them?"

"Why else do you think they opted to stay in the city?"

Oh. _Oh_. Ezio let out a low, rough chuckle. "So tonight you can be as loud as I like."

Leonardo rolled his eyes, but he still allowed Ezio to pull off their clothes with more urgency than he usually liked, allowed Ezio to fit between his long, beautifully pale thighs and kiss his neck over the hay, his tousled sandy hair glorious still over their discarded shirts. 

"Still wet from before," Ezio said roughly, as he hitched Leonardo's thigh up against his flank, and he waited for Leonardo to nod tightly before he sank in, groaning, exhilarated, glorying in the beautiful, velvet slide of it all, all the way into Leonardo's eager body. A low, thick moan seemed to be dragged out of Leonardo's throat, then Leonardo whined and ground against him, urging him on, his cheeks flushed. 

The brutal pace he set ended up so rough that Leonardo laughed breathlessly at the alarming creak that the rafters made at one particularly punishing thrust, and Ezio slowed unwillingly, eyeing the hayloft they were in suspiciously until they kissed, bodies fitting together perfectly, the pace slowing and turning tender, all the more intimate, until they were finally spent, Ezio stifling his cries against the sweat-damp skin of Leonardo's neck. 

When he nipped playfully at the skin, as Leonardo panted and tried to catch his breath, fingers batted at him with playful reproach. "No, Ezio."

"Not ever?"

Fingers tipped up his chin, and Leonardo's expression was sober as he looked at Ezio. Instantly, Ezio felt a little ashamed. " _Mi dispiace_."

"No, no." Leonardo kissed at the edge of his lips, his hand going up to stroke Ezio's hair. "I am not offended, _caro mio_." 

"It can be a gift," Ezio muttered, a little encouraged by Leonardo's indulgent tone. "All the time in the world for your endless curiosity."

"Or a curse, that takes my curiosity itself," Leonardo countered, and kissed Ezio again on his lips when he started to protest. "Oh, my love, it is yet too soon for me to risk everything." 

"I know." Ezio nuzzled him back, feeling soothed under Leonardo's quick, earnest caresses, his clever fingers rubbing over Ezio's back, dipping over his spine, until Ezio was pliant and tucked against Leonardo's lean frame. "But I am a greedy soul."

"I know that much." Leonardo murmured, though he smiled as he said this, and Ezio leaned back up for another kiss.

.malik

It was a day into their ride east when Altaïr said, "The Duce did not object?"

Malik scowled. It was still too early into his departure from Firenze to have this conversation, in his opinion. "Of course he did."

"And?"

"And I told him that I wanted to check on the rest of Italia," Malik shrugged. "And if all seemed well, then I wished to check on the lands of my birth."

"Kadar didn't come along," Altaïr noted.

"Yes, thank you, that was supremely obvious," Malik shot back, his tone caustic. "Kadar is his own man and can do what he pleases."

"The world must be turning on its head," Altaïr mused, and sidestepped his horse out of reach quickly when Malik glared at him. 

" _You_ didn't need to come along."

"Why not?" Altaïr noted. "I am human again and can rejoin the Brotherhood." His tone was flippant, but his eyes were serious as he stared at Malik. "But if there is something wrong with Masyaf, then you should tell me."

"Perhaps. We'll see, when we get there. It's been a very long time since I've heard any news out of Syria."

"Italia is a long way from Syria, and those two Ottoman Empire boys you questioned are barely old enough to tie their shoes."

Malik smiled briefly at the exaggeration, but the good humour didn't last. "Regardless, now that Italia has some breathing space, I felt it was time to return. If all is well, perhaps I will stay, perhaps I will come back to Italia." 

"I suppose that Al Mualim should know about this device in Roma," Altaïr observed, and arched his eyebrows when Malik tensed a little. "Malik, if you are suspicious about the Mentor, then you must tell me why."

"No. It is probably nothing." Malik muttered, unwilling to tell Altaïr that it had been mostly instinct that had driven him from Masyaf: instinct and grief and sentiment. 

"If you are worried that I will side with him, or something like that, whatever it is, you will be mistaken," Altaïr continued stubbornly. "I trust your judgment." 

"You thought some of my judgment heresy only a short while before."

"Ah," Altaïr shrugged again, and this time a smile pulled at his scarred lip. "I've had time to re-evaluate things since." 

Before Malik could make a comment, or even a jibe, Altaïr stepped his horse over, leaning close to brush his lips over Malik's cheek, then grinned as Malik flinched and nearly startled his horse into rearing. By the time he got his steed back under control, Altaïr was safely several strides away and grinning. 

"I'm grateful that you stayed your hand," Altaïr told him later, when they stopped for camp. "Against me. Against Kadar."

"Grateful that I was a coward?" 

"No! Not that." Altaïr said sharply. "Never that."

"Serendipity aside, it was-"

"It was mercy, I think," Altaïr interrupted quietly. "Even if you do not choose to see it this way. And I am grateful for it." When Malik did not answer, Altaïr added, "Malik, you have forgiven me for what I have done. But you have not forgiven yourself, have you? That is what drives you so. Why you were so... bitter. There was nothing that day that you could have done. It was my fault."

"I could have stopped us from confronting Robert in the first place. Forced you to stay in Masyaf." The words seemed to tumble from him, in drips and drabs, and he could not stop himself. "We could have stayed in Masyaf."

"And I would have made the same mistake again. If not then, then in the future. I was a very stubborn youth." Altaïr said evenly. "You did your best, and it was my fault that caused all this. So let that go, Malik. God has given Kadar and I another chance. Let go."

Malik nearly snapped something at Altaïr, but the earnestness in Altaïr's eyes drew him short: eventually, he looked away, towards their campfire. "I wouldn't know how," he said finally. 

"Is that also why we are going to Syria?"

Malik's lips quirked briefly, but he made no answer, and eventually, Altaïr settled down against him, warm and inviting and so very alive, and Malik curled down to press against him with a soft and bitten-off whisper of a promise.

.lorenzo

Giovanni landed on his windowsill just as Lorenzo was struggling through a supplies ledger, yawning and rubbing at his eyes, and the great eagle was in his human form, grinning, holding out the letter that Giovanni had been holding in one taloned foot before.

It was from Maria, along with a few well-wishes from Federico and Claudia. Lorenzo flicked his eyes over it, and got up from his seat, heading over to a side table where an unfinished game of chess had been in progress for weeks. He made Maria's move on it, according to her letter, and studied the board, even as Giovanni pressed himself flush against Lorenzo's back, mouthing at his neck.

"Stop that," Lorenzo said irritably. "I'm thinking."

"When I thought of introducing you to my mate," Giovanni grumbled, though he did stop, "I didn't think that the both of you would immediately strike up a long correspondence and even start playing _chess_."

"No one else here is remotely competent ever since Leonardo and Malik left Italia," Lorenzo muttered. He moved the black knight on his board, stepped over to his desk, and scribbled the move down on a piece of parchment. Before he could start writing the rest of the letter, however, Giovanni tugged the quill pointedly from his fingers and kissed him, languid and lazy, with just enough of a hint of his fangs against Lorenzo's lips to make Lorenzo's heart quicken. 

"I've been away on your business for half a week, Duce," Giovanni rumbled, against Lorenzo's parting lips. "And I do not feel appreciated."

"Hm. That depends on whether you've been particularly useful."

"Cruel as always," Giovanni said, with arch regret, though he did at least step away, rounding the desk towards the map on the far end. They discussed the territorial collapse of several of the trueblood lands, and the anarchy within some of them, then the Sforza ventures past their borders, all until Lorenzo was having difficulty stifling his yawns again, and Giovanni was grinning indulgently at him. 

"You'll grow old before your time, _Altezza_."

"Silence." Lorenzo circled the problem spots on the map. "Any other troubles?"

"You want more trouble, Duce?"

"Well," Lorenzo said testily, "Seeing as we're about to rebuild large swathes of infrastructure across Italia, it _helps_ to stay _informed_."

"I think you should conquer Italia first before building your roads and wells," Giovanni said, with a lazy grin that made Lorenzo scowl at him again.

"I'm looking to create a free Italia, not rule as Emperor."

"Pity. ' _Emperor_ Lorenzo the Magnificent' does have such a good ring to it."

Lorenzo rolled his eyes. "That's it, you're going to have to wait for your drink this time. I want to finish the letter to Maria first, and my ledgers." 

"I'll help you with the ledgers, and you and finish that letter," Giovanni countered. "And you should stop charming my mate." 

"I'm not charming her, she just happens to be an excellent correspondent who also, coincidentally, is a better chess player than you are."

Giovanni snorts, even as he leafs through the ledgers. "She's told me more often than once how the Duke of Firenze is so very _erudite_ and _educated_ and _wise_. It's getting tiresome."

"I think she'll have been a far better companion than you've turned out to be," Lorenzo retorted tartly. "More attentive, at the least."

"You don't find me attentive?" 

"You're possessive, not attentive. Now be quiet. I'm concentrating."

Giovanni chuckled, but he kept his peace until Lorenzo had finished the letter and risen from the desk: this time, when he approached, Lorenzo allowed himself to be pulled into Giovanni's arms and kissed. It was always tender like this, at the start, even if he could taste Giovanni's hunger between them, in the way Giovanni tensed up as he pressed his palms up over his shoulders, in the way Giovanni's eyes grew dilated when Lorenzo drew back for air. 

Tonight, instead of tugging him impatiently towards the spare room, or making some comment about the bed, Giovanni merely kissed him again, slower now, lazy, until at the end, breathless, Lorenzo murmured, "Are you not hungry?"

"For you?" Giovanni shot him a mischievous grin, and said archly, "Always."

Lorenzo started to retort, the words muffled instead when Giovanni pressed another kiss against him, then lower, over his throat, to graze his teeth against the first scar on his skin, rumbling when Lorenzo sucked in a high, soft breath. "Yes," Lorenzo whispered, when Giovanni pressed his tongue lightly against the scar tissue, and he curled his fingers tightly into Giovanni's vest, and around the back of his neck. 

Later, when sated and in bed, naked and entwined, Giovanni murmured, absently, "You would truly prefer Maria over me?"

"Well," Lorenzo said, and pretended to ponder the point, then smirked when Giovanni growled at him and shifted over to nuzzle at the fresh bite on his neck. "I suppose you have your benefits," Lorenzo conceded, and laughed when Giovanni muttered something incoherent and nipped Lorenzo pointedly on the shoulder. 

This, in a way, was peace, Lorenzo decided, as he allowed Giovanni to lick a way up to his lips; difficult as the truebloods were, sensitive as the matter of Roma was. He had struggled all this while to achieve the impossible, had gambled everything upon it and had won. It wasn't perfect, not yet, not with much of Italia still in disarray from the chaos the Templars had left in their wake, but it was a beginning.

The world may have bent to his will, but Lorenzo was acutely aware, particularly now with Giovanni pressed against him, how much of that he owed to the Auditore, even now. "Tomorrow," he murmured, when Giovanni settled back down onto his flank, "I should visit Monteriggioni." 

Giovanni arched an eyebrow at him. "That's new. You've shown no interest in it before."

"I'm well aware that I'm rather late in honouring a few memories," Lorenzo said delicately. "And in reinforcing what has been a very... key alliance."

Giovanni snorted, though he was smiling as he pressed a kiss to Lorenzo's shoulder. "Very well. Unless," he added, "You mean to charm my mate to your side after all, and leave me in the dust."

"We'll see," Lorenzo bared his teeth, growing a little irritated by the teasing, and Giovanni laughed, tugging him to eye level, and there was amusement there, but there was affection too, and something deeper that he had no name for, something primal.

"You would be welcome, _Altezza_ ," Giovanni murmured, and it was a promise beyond what his words offered: for a moment, Lorenzo could feel a connection between them that would dare to defy time itself. 

"Tomorrow, then," Lorenzo decided, his voice a little unsteady, despite his efforts, and this time it was Lorenzo who dared pull Giovanni close, to tuck them together; it would be here, like this, that Lorenzo would dream of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. IT'S DONE. It was a near thing at the end, because I started to lose steam, but HERE WE GO. IT IS DONE. :D /death. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who kept reading and talking to me about it, especially those who followed it from the very beginning in livejournal. You guys have been a great help. ^^ Much love!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> follow/talk to me on manic-intent.tumblr.com or on twitter @manic_intent :3


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